


All These Things That I've Done

by KirkyPet



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies), Mad Max: Fury Road
Genre: Multi, Old Age, Origin Story, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-05-07 14:57:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 33
Words: 91,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19211782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KirkyPet/pseuds/KirkyPet
Summary: From childhood to old age and beyond: Furiosa's life story as told by a shippy fluffmongerNOW WITH OFFICIAL SOUNDTRACKhttps://open.spotify.com/user/kirkypet/playlist/7nGRm6CoUEz4QKZbFrtkTx?si=4Q9pfGqfTOabuUcJHPwTgw





	1. Witches and Ogres

**Author's Note:**

> *This is not a brand-new fic; this is two series and their connecting stories cobbled together into a multi-chapter for TIDINESS*
> 
> Origin story (chapters 1-9): How Furiosa Lost Her Arm And Narrowly Avoided Becoming A Wife https://archiveofourown.org/series/581749  
> Movie snippet (chapter 10): Teardrop https://archiveofourown.org/works/10415037  
> Post-movie (chapters 11-33): The Shipping Forecast https://archiveofourown.org/series/665249
> 
> Disclaimer: Chapters 24-29 are Cheedo the Playwright's wasteland adaptation of an 18th century comedy. Feel free to pass these by if you're not morbidly curious.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet Furiosa. She's kind of a little shit, but she'll probably grow on you.

Once there was a girl who lived in a green place. She lived with her mother, aunts, sisters and little brothers, but no grownup men. They were the Many Mothers.

Her name was Furiosa and she was eight years old. She had a mop of tangled honey-coloured curls, green eyes and freckles on her nose. As her name would suggest, she was not a tame and quiet child. Although by no means the oldest or biggest, she was the acknowledged chief of the Swaddle Pups. She always had the best ideas for games and could be relied on to entertain her friends and adherents on the dullest days. She could fight and shoot and run along the narrowest of fences. Which was all the more remarkable as her left arm was missing below the elbow.

But stories were her favourite...

*

The Swaddle Dog clan were hosting the Harvest Celebration that year. The first sister clan to arrive had been Hedgerow. Furiosa and her favourite sister Val  - a pudgy seven-year old with long ropes of black hair and mischievous eyes - were in charge of hosting the junior Hedgerows. They were very proud of this. Furiosa loved being in charge. But it wasn't easy to put up with Zephyr and Div. Zephyr was a graceful, pale girl of ten years old, with wavy reddish-brown hair and supercilious grey eyes. Furiosa thought she was overbearing, bossy and obnoxious. Her little brother Div was _slightly_ more tolerable, although he had a runny nose and kept breaking Furiosa's stuff. But Furiosa often broke her own stuff, so that didn't bother her much.

There had already been several run-ins between Zephyr and Furiosa about who was _really_ in charge. And it was only the third day of Harvest.

That evening, as the stars were coming out, the Mothers were in the main tent, celebrating as grownups do. The children had been shooed off to the equivalent of the kids' table - a small campfire of their very own.

Zephyr tossed her auburn mane and smiled sweetly. "You know, I heard you were really tough - but now I see you're mostly armless."

Furiosa pretends to clutch at her sides. "Oh Mothers, that is just the best joke. I mean, it was really funny the first two or three hundred times I heard it...But after that, it's got a teensy bit boring, y'know?"

Nothing daunted, Zephyr tries again. "So, _Furiosaaaa_...how come you've only got one arm?"

Furiosa looks wearily at Val, who raises an eyebrow.

"Do you really want to know? It's a scary story. Might give you nightmares."

"Oh please..." Zephyr scoffs. "I think I'll risk it."

"Alright then...don't say I didn't warn you."

Sighing, she begins...

"About two years ago, we were on a trade delegation, Val and me..."

"...and I suppose you were negotiating?" asks Zephyr innocently.

Young as she was, Furiosa knew not to spoil a good story with improbable details too early on. So she merely shrugged and said "The Mothers didn't want to leave us behind, so we tagged along." However, she had vanity enough to add, with a confident nod "...But I will negotiate someday. Look, do you want to hear this story or not?" ( _Zephyr nods grudgingly_ ) "Then I'll continue."

"We were passing through the canyons about four clicks northeast of here. You know those ones with the caves and sinkholes?" ( _Zephyr nods, looking faintly troubled_ ) "Well, one night we were asleep in our tents, and I really needed to pee. Val came with me, and so we went to the edge of the camp, behind a big rock."

The listeners are tense with apprehension.

"I could smell something awful...like rotting meat. Suddenly I was grabbed from behind and gagged before I could shout. All I saw were hands, covered in blood and hair, and Val getting dragged away. I fought them and got one of them with the knife I keep in my belt, and then they _hit me_..."

"When I woke up, we were lying at the bottom of a sinkhole. It was dark, too dark to see, but when we felt around the walls, we felt things rattling and cracking under our feet. I reached down and felt a bony hand...There were bones everywhere...tiny human bones. We could hear singing and cackling above."

"Witches...! Ogres...! They're going to eat us! We have to get out!"

"We could just about see the moon at the opening of the sinkhole. We waited til the voices faded and we thought _they'd_ gone away or were asleep. I boosted Val onto my shoulders and helped her climb up and out...you know Val's a great little climber...( _Val shrugs modestly_ ). She managed to scramble over the edge. But I couldn't get out...so I called up to her "Run to camp and get help!""

"And so I was left there among the bones."

"A little while later...the moon had shifted and it was all dark...a rope dropped down ( _Gasps of relief_ ). I thought it was someone come to rescue me - but it wasn't! ( _Gasps of horror_ ) Hairy stinking arms grabbed me and I was pulled up out of the hole. They tied my feet and dragged me into a circle of fire..."

She paused, shuddering.

"What did they look like?" breathed Zephyr.

"There were maybe eight of them. All over fur and feathers. Carrying these - long sticks with bones hanging from them, they rattled when they moved, like skeletons dancing. They were all covered in red and black - paint or blood, I don't know. One, the smallest one, grabbed me by the hair and shouted in a hoarse voice..."

_"Great Destroyer, we beg you - end our pain. We offer you the flesh of this child - may the world end and relieve us of our suffering!"_

They all started chanting and rattling their sticks, and another one brought forward an axe...they held me down..."

Div, wide-eyed with horror, scrambled to his feet and pelted off, crying for his mother. Zephyr sat on, transfixed.

"I couldn't remember any more...just a thud, and a smell of burnt meat. I must have blacked out with the pain. When I woke, Madge and Iris were carrying me in a sling. I could just see my mother behind, carrying a shotgun. And the bodies of the ogres, charring on the fire..."

Holding up her stump, "... _and my left arm was gone_."

Zephyr suddenly put her hand to her mouth, as if considering whether she could keep hold of her Harvest dinner. She bolted, ashen-faced, in the direction of her brother's flight.

*

Furiosa, delighted, rolled backwards and hugged her knees, chuckling "Oh Mothers, that was the best one yet!" Val, giggling and nodding, gave her a thumbs up.

"I'm glad you both found that funny" a voice rang out from the shadows, making them both jump. "You're not the one who'll have to explain this to their mother..."

At the sound of Mary Jabassa's voice, Val checked her giggles and scuttled off, muttering "Gonna see if they're alright."

"Yeah, you'd better" Mary called after her.

Abandoned by her friend, Furiosa remained unabashed.

"Why can't you just tell people what _really_ happened?" groaned Mary. "You do this every year..."

"But the truth is so _boring_ " whined Furiosa. "Compound break...infection...amputation. There's no good story in that...unless...hmm...maybe..." she stopped to think.

"Well, you've shot yourself in the foot this time. The Hedgerow clan have to go home via that very canyon you've just slandered...I'd bet that Zephyr and Div will be _very_ reluctant to go home any time soon. We'll probably have to host them for much longer..."

Mary chuckled at the sight of Furiosa's aghast face. "Thought that'd get your attention."

" _But_ when they do go home, it means they won't want to come back!" concluded Furiosa, happily, getting the last word as usual.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very loosely modelling Furiosa along the lines of Lyra Belacqua from Northern Lights. Her strengths are leadership and the ability to talk her way out of awkward situations. This was my first Furiosa headcanon fic, originally posted back in October 2016, so be gentle with me!


	2. The Sacred Art of Stealing (and Leaving)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Furiosa asks Mary about her father.  
> (Brookmyre fans will find this rather familiar)

Furiosa is almost twelve... 

Mary Jabassa looks up from milking the goats to see her daughter pass by, dabbing at a bloody nose and split lip, but with an air of a fight well fought. 

"Playing nice, I see...?" 

 _'You should see the other guy'_ is Furiosa's usual response on those occasions. She just looks a bit thoughtful now. 

"Anything wrong?" 

"No, just Murph and me having a conversation about fathers." 

Mary has been expecting this, since the arrival of the men's clan that morning. Furiosa was getting to that age. 

"I'd said my dad was a trader...Murph said, 'what, like Big Fat George?', so I walloped him." 

Mary smiled, "No, your dad was nothing like Big Fat George." 

"Tell me more about him?" Furiosa settled down on the dusty ground by her mother's feet. 

*

"For starters, he wasn't a trader, not really. It's a bit hard to explain _what_ he was, so I just say trader, y'know? – that saves a long story to people who wouldn't understand." 

Furiosa nodded sagely. She'd lost interest in stories since she was old enough to ride one of the two tiny scrambler bikes the clan kept for their young ones. Kicking up dirt and practising her one-armed shooting was far too absorbing to give much thought-time for stories. She still knew it was best to tailor a story to your audience. But of course her mother would give her the proper explanation denied to others – _she'd_ understand. 

*

"He was an artist." 

"What, like pictures?" 

"Kind of...he and his friends used to make pictures and sculptures out of salvage that wasn't good for anything else." 

Furiosa shrugged – she couldn't imagine what else there was to make pictures from. 

"But Zal – his name was Zal – mainly did magic tricks." _'_ _Zal_ _',_ _Furiosa_ _repeated to herself._  

"Magic? Was he a wizard?", Furiosa asked excitedly, before remembering she was a grownup now and didn't believe in wizards anymore. "Sounds like a wizard's name anyway", she muttered, reddening at her mother's grin. 

"It was mainly card tricks, sleight of hand stuff. But he could make anything disappear. That's why he and his friends didn't stick around long..." 

"So you didn't know him long, then? How long was he here?" 

"Just a few days. They had to keep moving, you see. Some people were after them." 

"Who? Why?" 

"Some powerful man who he'd stolen from." 

"Dad was a thief?" Furiosa frowned. 

"I'm not telling this very well" said Mary to herself. "I'll just tell you what he told me." 

"He and his friends had always been travellers in the Wasteland. Not on the run, it was just the way their families had lived for generations. Their group had crossed paths with this convoy of heavies. The leader of the gang was friendly, especially when he saw Zal and his father do their conjuring tricks. He said he could use people with skills like that in his gang. When Zal's father refused to join them, he got nasty. Threatened to kill their family if they didn't steal something for him." 

"This leader – he called himself the General – was at war with a rival gang, and he wanted to steal a particular treasure of theirs. To give him a better chance of taking them over. In short, if Zal and his friends didn't steal this treasure for him, his father would be killed. So they did it. But the General killed his father anyway...and the rest of their clan." 

"Why?", asked Furiosa, appalled. 

"Some people are just like that" her mother replied. "Just love to have power over other people – hurt them because they can. But the General was too arrogant. He thought he'd won, thought he owned the Wasteland because he had his heavies and now had a hold over his rivals. He kept your dad and his friends to use them again, thinking he'd broken them. But they found a way to steal not only the treasure, but half of the useless shiny things that gave the General his authority. Sabotaged their trucks on the way out and put something in the water supply – something that would make them very sick. All without being seen – the gang never knew what hit them until your dad and his friends were well away...But the General wasn't going to forget, so they've been moving ever since." 

*

"But, for all that, he could still laugh, have a good time. We had some great parties when they were in the Green Place. They would perform all _kinds_ of things – drawing and making stuff – no request stumped them. They'd do dances to a music box they had...and the magic tricks? – I volunteered when he called for an assistant and he said I was a natural. He was just flirting, of course, but I learned a few tricks from him." 

"Will you show me?" 

"I'll try – haven't done them in ages, might have lost the knack." 

*

"Did you love him? Was it love at first sight?" Furiosa asked, almost embarrassed. Mary was surprised – was her wild little Fury getting into a romantic phase?  

"It's Val – she's been _reading_ " explained Furiosa hurriedly. "She'll want to know that kind of thing." 

Mary laughed, "Not sure if I believe in love at first sight. And as many books start with hate at first sight, and they work round to love, by and by. Two sides of the same coin, I suppose. But no, I didn't love him. I liked him a lot. He made me laugh. Called me his Amazon. I said I thought Amazons had to be about seven feet tall." 

Furiosa grinned. Her mum was tiny. She'd always wondered where she'd got her height from. "I suppose _he_ was tall then?" 

"Yes, he was a big guy. Tall, green eyes, light hair. You've got my chin though, and my curly mop. He was lovely..." Mary mused, eyes focused somewhere in the past. "He only told me his whole story after...well...whenever they were preparing to leave." 

"Were you sad when he left?" 

"There had never been any question about them moving on – but we half-joked about me coming with them. At least I think he was joking. I did think about it. His friends were nice guys and we got on well. And there was no real danger – they had survived so long and had always avoided trouble. But I didn't want to leave the Green Place and the mothers. And could you imagine living with just a lot of boys, _all the time_?", she asked with a wink and a grimace. 

"That sounds _awful_ " agreed Furiosa. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is heavily based on 'The Sacred Art of Stealing' by Christopher Brookmyre. It wasn't intended to be such a retelling - I just picked Zal Innez as a template for Furiosa's unknown father - but his history translated surprisingly well to the Wasteland, so it stuck!


	3. A Grownup Conversation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mary and Furiosa have 'the talk'.

They stood and watched the dune buggies crest the hill in the morning sun. As the cloud of dust settled, they were already drifting back to the settlement. There were only scraps of conversation going on among the women and children. They were all pretty tired. It had been a late night for the kids, and quite a few of the women had opted to take advantage of the last night of male company, and had been without sleep almost entirely. 

Furiosa was glad to have some time with her thoughts. Her mother was off to one side, walking with Katie. She had said a particular goodbye to a dark-haired man by his dune buggy, so Furiosa suspected she'd be pretty sleepy all the morning. She was keen to talk to her about some things that had been on her mind lately. 

*

It wasn't a question of the mechanics of the thing. Even anklebiters in the Green Place knew where babies came from. They kept goats, after all. It didn't seem that complicated. Male, female, schlanger in, wait for a bit, baby goat out, right? Humans were just the same, just takes twice as long. 

No, it didn't need to be that kind of conversation. It was the more complicated stuff. The teachers had been reading to them about evolution. Natural selection, they called it. Animals had to consider who to pair up with. To be fair, most of the examples in the book were about animals that none of them had ever seen, or would likely ever see (which gave a kind of otherworldly feel to the lesson), but there was a picture of a bird with a huge crazy-looking tail with eyes on. Maybe not real eyes, that'd be weird, even for Before. Apparently, females liked the big tail so much they bred with males with the biggest one. Scared off predators or something. The monkeys with the red bums were more of a mystery. But goats with the biggest horns for fighting – that made sense. 

So how did it work for people? How did they choose their partners? Was there something particular to look for? She'd understand it if women picked men with the most guns, or the fastest buggy. But until babies were born clutching little baby guns, that would be irrelevant. She giggled at the idea of babies driving out of the womb in tiny dune buggies. Mothers, she was tired. 

So...what about the size of men themselves? That might make them better at fighting, but that wasn't always the case. Maybe how smart they were? It can't be a size thing for her mum – her dad had been tall, but that guy from this morning had been quite short for a man. It was complicated, evidently. And there was another matter – how did women choose women? Throughout the year, her mum shared her bed with Katie, more often than not. When it's not about breeding, evolution can hardly have much to do with it, right? She hoped her mum would have some of the answers. 

*

Mary, thinking that kids are never too young to learn once they're old enough to ask, was more than happy to enlighten her daughter. In theory. In reality, okay yes, it was a little embarrassing discussing her sexual preferences with her pre-adolescent daughter. But the main difficulty was that there was no simple answer.  

"I suppose the first thing is – everyone is different. What one person likes is often very unique to them. And a person isn't always consistent, either. What you like one year, you might not like the next. And, of course, it's not just about how someone looks. Someone might be pretty, but you won't think so because you don't like them as a person. And the same the other way round. But then again, some people go with pretty people _because_ they don't like them as people...it's like being mad at them makes you want to..." She glanced at Furiosa's perplexed expression and paused to collect her thoughts.  

"I think the main thing is that you trust them. It's like, when you were little and you had a favourite toy. You wanted to have a friend to play with it along with you, because it was more fun than playing with it by yourself. But you didn't want just _anyone_ to touch it...just someone you liked and trusted not to break it...Oh Mothers, that's a terrible analogy," she broke off with an embarrassed laugh. 

Furiosa, cringing as her mother waded deeper into a metaphorical quagmire, took pity on her. "I get it, really...I think I get it." And she did kind of get it. She and Val had been experimenting and had a good idea of what the favourite toy was that her mum was talking about. 

Anna and Madge had been listening in with interest. They were two regular gossips who always had something to contribute to every conversation, regardless of how private it was intended to be. Mary, when she saw them, had a sinking feeling that the whole settlement would have heard an account of her awkward explanation by nightfall. 

"The _main_ _thing_ , girl, the main thing is that you have plently of fun while you're young. Once the crowsfeet and bingo wings kick in, you won't get a look in." Madge had numerous stories to tell of her life before the Green Place, many of which had been bitter tirades against a particular man from her past. 

Furiosa has a mental image of what crowsfeet are, but what kind of exotic deformity bingo wings are sets her mind reeling. 

"If you don't have long legs, big tits and skin like a newborn babby, you're screwed. Or, more accurately, not." 

Mary splutters her objections to this information, but is interrupted by Anna, who plays devil's advocate. 

"To be fair, Madge, it can work the other way round too. I mean, remember my flatmate Anita? She ditched her fella when he quit his job to be a sports writer. Dumped him for her _boss_ , ugly old dude he was, too." Madge nodded grudgingly and they walked off, bickering in a best-of-friends way. 

Relieved at their departure, Mary attempts to get the conversation back on track. "Ignore _all_ of that" she advised, shaking her head. "One thing that is very serious though is...you have to treat people as people. The minute you try to use someone, and don't think about their feelings or what they want – that's the point were it all goes bad. Don't ever treat anyone like that, or let anyone do that to you – okay?" 

Furiosa nodded at her, wide-eyed. 

"It's like the man who hurt your dad. He used people for what he could get from them, and then threw them away like they were nothing. I'm sorry to get all serious on you, love, but it's so important." And she reached out and clutched her daughter's hand.

And if Furiosa didn't understand fully then, she would soon enough.


	4. Beyond the Pale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An exiled crew in the outer reaches of the Citadel territory. A cynical and jaded war boy wants to go home.
> 
> (I've made them all very Irish, because why the feck not?)

It wasn't demanding work, being in Sharkey's crew. At best, it could be said that there were long periods of boredom, occasionally punctuated by short periods of excitement. Often followed by long periods of being dead. In short, they specialised in building and testing explosives in the outer reaches of the Citadel's territory.

*

Shambo didn't know how many thousands of days it had been since Sharkey's crew had been exiled to the Edges. He'd long since lost track. Maybe it had only  _seemed_  long. 

At the beginning, he hadn't minded being so far away from the Citadel. It had seemed like almost a relief. He'd always had a bit of a mouth on him. That and an unhealthy disregard for authority conspired to frequently get him into bother. Like the time Dux got promoted to Imperator. "The higher the monkey climbs the tree, the further up its arse you see" was one of his gems. That and "shite flies high when you hit it with a shovel" hadn't gone down too well. He really needed to check his six before coming out with that sort of thing.  

But what had really put the kibosh on the fortunes of the Sharkey crew was when Gipe managed to blow up the shooting range (and half the warboys there) with some experimental IEDs. Gipe was a clever bastard with fuses but not exactly  _present_  most of the time.  

It definitely all went arseways from there. And the other crew members hadn't exactly been exemplary contributors to the Citadel. Shower of useless shites at the best of times. So it had been decreed on high that the explosives division would be 'relocated' to the Edges, i.e. far enough from the Citadel to make a holy show of themselves as much as they pleased.  

*

The crew were camped atop a craggy outcrop in the desert wastes. They called it the Island. 

So far from home, Shambo had lost track of time. He'd made markings on the side of the Wild Rover in an attempt to number the days. But they'd got into their thousands, so he suspected Steek and Spide of messing with them. He'd threatened to bust their dial for them if they mucked about with his count, but it didn't make any difference. Maybe it had been that long. It  _felt_  like thousands of days anyway...which was weird because he'd been getting a bit long in the tooth when they'd got kicked out. He really should be dead by now. He was sure his lumps were smaller than they used to be. 

They'd found water, just a poor wee waterhole deep within the Island. It was just enough to keep the seven of them alive. Between lizards and the fleshy plants they'd managed to cultivate in the shady cracks, they'd managed to keep going longer than any of them had expected. They got precious little from the Citadel in the way of supplies in exchange for their grenades and thundersticks. 

They didn't even have paint to keep the sun off. They'd had to resort to wearing  _shirts_  which was just embarrassing. That and keeping in the shade in the hottest part of the day. At least they'd managed to keep their heads shaven, though Shambo had got pretty lax lately. It was easy to get a bit heterodox in the Edges. It wasn't a bad life. He felt pretty good, physically, not sick much these days. And he was free to express his thoughts as openly as he liked. Nobody around to give a shit. 

*

The problem was, it was just so _boring_. Shambo wasn't all that interested in blowing shit up, which was all Gipe talked about. Sharkey used to be a bit of craic for an Imperator, but he'd never got over being banished. These days, he'd be off getting pished on traded drink and whatever could be smuggled from the Citadel. He'd wander off and start picking arguments with rocks. When he did sober up, once in a blue moon, he'd just sit holding his head, going  _'Don't tell me I'm still on that_ _feckin_ _Island...'_.  

*

As aforementioned, the rest of the crew were liabilities. He wasn't sure how Sharkey had picked them all up. Gipe was alright but not much use if the conversation veered away from his specialist subject.  

Champ was a bit of an anomaly, for Sharkey's crew anyway. He was loyal, unselfish, built like a brick shithouse and none too bright. He followed orders unthinkingly, and never thought for a second that he wouldn't stick by his Imperator in his exile. In short, he was the perfect warboy. He could have gone far. Sometimes Shambo wishes he would go far...especially when he tried to keep up crew morale by calling them 'The Magnificent Seven'.

Cricket was an inoffensive soul, but he wasn't firing on all cylinders, that boy. He had to have 'left' and 'right' painted on the toes of his boots, no kidding. And even then he'd get it wrong.

Steek and Spide were skittery wee shites who thought they were the cat's pyjamas in their souped-up Ford Fiesta. They were more verbally than physically aggressive, often informing war boys from other crews that they'd  _'knack their_ _ballix_ _in'_  if they didn't acknowledge their ride was some flash.  There were few vehicles in the Citadel that could be described as tasteful. The 'Shaggin Wagon' was certainly not one of them – with it's massive spoiler, blue metallic paint (it was a mystery even to Shambo where they got a hold of that) and the strange blue light emanating from the below the car's chassis.  It had always been a source of amazement to Shambo that the pair weren't walking round with more bruises on them, but it's likely that other crews didn't actually understand what they were saying, or at least found them too funny to batter. 

*

Shambo wanted to go home. It hadn't seemed that great at the time. Deep down, he couldn't really understand why people thought Joe was a god. He always thought he was missing something. But even his underdeveloped sense of self-preservation told him that the Citadel did not tolerate free-thinkers. At least, he'd never met any live ones.  

But he missed people. He missed living under a roof. He missed being in the Repair Shop up to his oxters in a V8. 

He'd never even been back on a delivery. Imperator Dux had made it very clear that the only one of the Sharkey crew to come within ten clicks of the Citadel was Champ. _I tell a lie_ , he thought - Cricket was sometimes tolerated as a second pair of hands when there was a big delivery on.

Shambo sighed. He'd have to do something pretty belter if he was ever going to make it back home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The only reason I gave this crew a bit of a regional dialect (Irish/Northern Irish) is because this was my first attempt at War Boys and all the good names seemed to have been taken. It just kind of escalated. I also wanted some explosions to take place at some point. This may be in very bad taste, but stereotypes are there to be played with.  
> And I thought war boy crews might well develop some kind of common identity and dialect, especially if they're exiled for YEARS.
> 
> "...long periods of boredom, occasionally punctuated by short periods of excitement. Often followed by long periods of being dead." This is one of those paraphrased quotes that nobody's entirely sure where it came from. Probably the First World War. But I think Terry Pratchett might have been involved at some point.
> 
> This is fairly heavily inspired by 'Father Ted' (90s surreal comedy about three disreputable priests exiled to a remote island off the west coast of Ireland). Imperator Dux may actually be Bishop Brennan. Imperator Sharkey is not particularly inspired by Father Jack Hackett but I suspect their sentiments might coincide during periods of sobriety.  
> Feargal Sharkey - original vocalist for The Undertones. Wikipedia entry specifies his CV as including Scout Leader, delivery man and tv repairman. Seem like good qualifications for Imperator. And thought it sounded like a suitably spiky Imperator name.
> 
> Glossary:  
> A Shambo is a shamrock-shaped sandwich from a particular Irish sandwich chain.  
> Urban Dictionary will provide details on what a Steek or a Spide is. It's not complimentary.  
> Jimmy Cricket is a veteran comedian who wears wellies with 'left' and 'right' on them (but on the wrong feet).  
> Gipe is defined as 'a friendly harmless idiot' in irishslang.info (website also credited for Shambo's unfortunate asides regarding Imperator Dux). Gipe also has many and various definitions on Urban Dictionary (ehm...really varied), but I did like this one - an acronym 'Good Idea Poorly Executed' - something that might have been spectacular if it wasn't totally bungled in the execution. Which seems highly appropriate.  
> Champ in this context implies both fighting prowess and a shortage of brain function (i.e. thick as champ).


	5. Out of the Frying Pan, Into the Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where it all goes pear-shaped.

Furiosa was tense with excitement as the convoy tore along the sandy terrain. Despite what she'd told Zephyr during the 'campfire incident' some years back, this was the first time she'd been allowed to tag along with the Mothers on an excursion. It had gone smoothly so far, like a first road trip should, apart from the rock fall that had forced them to take a slight diversion off their usual route.

It was just a shame Val wasn't along for the ride as well. 

*

The Green Place was having a chickenpox party. It had been just over two months since the men's clan headed north, and some traders had passed through since then. A couple of weeks later, Val and some others had come down with a rash which prompted rapid action by the Mothers. Children who hadn't had the infection were herded into a comfortable tent along with the itchy sufferers, partly to distract them from scratching, and to make sure they'd get the irritating illness out of the way while they were young. Adults who'd had it before were on duty to take care of them all and keep them entertained in their quarantine.  

The remainder of the clan, those for whom the infection would be dangerous, decided to clear out of the settlement altogether for a few weeks until all of the infected party had scabbed over. So, a miscellanous gathering of women camped up in the orchards on the southern fringes of the Green Place for a few days. Some were in the first few months of pregnancy (including Furiosa's mother), others were newcomers to the settlement who hadn't had chickenpox. One or two of the frailer elderly Mothers had been persuaded to come along too. The group would need some wiser heads in attendance. No-one would have suggested that they were too old to risk infection, not without risking a cuff round the ear.  

So why had Furiosa begged to come along too? For one thing, she had been to a chickenpox party in the past and she knew that, despite the name, it wasn't that much fun. Half the room would be sick and cranky, and the other half running around hyped up in a small space. But what persuaded her mother was the fact that Furiosa been laid up with a leg injury for several weeks and desperate to get out and about again. 

* 

Furiosa felt like she was properly grown up. Talking, dancing and roaming through the fruit trees with the women, rather than being left behind with the little kids at home. She felt a pang when she thought of Val, wished she was with them. But then, Val was that bit younger than her, so maybe she wouldn't feel too badly about being left behind.  

But after sixteen days, they got a bit restless. No-one was showing any symptoms, thankfully, so there was no need to go back for medical treatment. But it was a bit too early to be heading back to the settlement. Besides, it was nice to have a change of scenery and they were all having a good time. Donna and some of the other pregnant women put their heads together and concocted a plan for a road trip to the south-east. They reasoned they probably wouldn't get another chance for a year or more, what with bump and baby. Besides, there were herders out that way who would probably have skins and herbs to trade. They had enough supplies and it would be useful, they all agreed. Even the elders were keen to hit the road again. So a flare was sent up to signal to home -  _moving on, back in_ _ten days_. 

*

Shambo sat on the rocky outcrop, staring moodily at the horizon. He could hear Gipe and the other two below at ground level, messing with wires. Steek and Spide were probably off somewhere practicing handbrake turns in the Shaggin Wagon. And Sharkey was nowhere to be seen, as per. They were planning to test out some landmines later, but Shambo was happy to leave them to get on with it. Well, not _happy_ , but he'd rather to get a bit of peace to think.

A trail of dust caught his eye. There was very little traffic near the Island. That was why they'd been sent there after all, _to be out of the way_ , he thought gloomily. Was it coming their way? He watched it some more. Yep, definitely incoming. He scrambled down the rocky slope to where the three of them were absorbed in attaching some fuses to a crack in the rock with putty.

"Have you got the scope?" Shambo called out. Champ nodded to a pile of tools, "Right there, big man."

Shambo scooped it up and scanned in the direction of the dust trail. He'd have a better view from up high but...no, there it was. A convoy of bikes, about nine of them. Not carrying much kit, so not traders. Looked like one person per bike. Shambo wondered if it would be worth intercepting them. Probably didn't have much worth raiding, apart from the bikes. As they advanced closer, he could see that each of the riders carried a rifle. Hmm, maybe should just let them pass. They didn't look worth taking on. On the other hand, they could arm the landmines they'd set earlier and just wait and see if they managed to blow themselves up. Shambo thought about it, but he'd never been keen on killing passers-by just for the hell of it. After all, they might come back with something worth raiding next time.

"Hang on a minute...", Shambo murmured.  
"Wa ish it?", Cricket asked, with a mouthful of wires. He spat them out. "We got incoming?".  
Shambo span round. "Champ! Remember what you said after that last delivery run? Immortan's running low on breeders?"  
"Yup, word is he's just got the one right now." Champ replied. "What's your point, man?"  
"This is how we're going to get back to the Citadel! Bring back some breeders!"  
"Speak for yourself, Sham. I'm alright here, ta very much." Gipe chipped in.  
"Hang on, are you saying there's a bunch of breeders on bikes heading our way?" Champ sounded sceptical. "Sure you've not been on the Imperator's brew?"  
"Gie's a jook" Cricket grabbed the scope. "You got the beer goggles on, Sham? I just see old biddies here. No, hang on. Aye, maybe...and there's two on the one bike here. Nice from far, not far from nice", he winked.  
"Aye, like you'd know" Champ hit him a thump. "Right, how're we goanny do this?"

*

"You sure of the road, Suze?"  
"Yeah, think so. Not been this way before, but should be alright if we skirt round that big crag over there."  
"Alright, keep an eye out for company!"

*

"Alright, lets start with the getaway. Where'd you leave the Rover? Away and get it ready"  
"We'll not be able to carry more'n a couple of them in the back of the Rover." Champ protested. "What about the Wagon? It could hold another one. Is it handy?"

Cricket climbed to the top of the crag, scope between his teeth. He scanned the area. At least the Wagon was easy to spot. "I see them, off to the left there. Kicking up a fair bit of dust."  
Shambo tutted. "Dickheads. Hope the breeders don't see them first. Get down there, Champ, and give them the heads up. We'll need both rides for this."

He turned to Gipe. "Right. So. The tricky part. How're we goanny get a hold of two or three of the shiny ones without getting perforated? They've all got rifles."  
"Auld biddies can't shoot?" Gipe offered.  
"I'd rather not risk it, if it's all the same to you" returned Shambo. "We might need to create a diversion. Something to separate them we can grab one or two, then scoot before the dust settles."  
"Got just the thing here" Gipe grinned.

"Alright, cavalry's here. What we doin'?", a voice spoke over Shambo's shoulder, making him jump. The Chuckle Brothers had shambled up. "I hear you're on the pull, Sham? After the bitches, eh?"

*

" _That – did – not – go – well_...", muttered Shambo through gritted teeth. He drove the Wild Rover full throttle along the sandy track. The windscreen was in tatters where he'd knocked it out with his free hand, while trying to keep control of the vehicle. He'd had to. He could have used it as a sieve. Gipe was always an optimist. _Auld biddies could_ _most definitely shoot_. 

His ears were ringing. Sounds seemed far away.  

Okay, time for a status check. He was bleeding from his right ear, but everything else seemed to be more or less intact. His left shoulder hurt in a way that he felt he'd notice more later.   
He had a memory of Steek dropping with a round bullethole in his forehead. _That_ had come out of nowhere. Gipe taking cover. And then the world went white. 

"Alright back there?", he yelled. He hoped someone would answer.   
"Think so..." Champ replied. "She's still out cold. I've got her tied up. Should be alright."   
"Damaged?"   
"Not...really. Just knocked out. The other one got the worst of it." 

Silence. 

"Shambo?" There was something in Champ's voice that had Shambo's stomach sinking.  
"What?"   
"Immortan's breeders got to be pretty shiny, right?"  
"Why...?"  
"Well...she's got an arm missing. A while ago, looks like. And she's a wee bit younger than we thought." 

Shambo sighed from the very depths of his being. This had not gone well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ended up being a 'Lock Stock and Two Smoking Barrels' type of heist-gone-wrong. I keep putting off the angst. Can't put it off any longer though...


	6. I Was Stolen As A Child

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Furiosa's journey to the Citadel.

Furiosa wakes. She’s being shaken around on a hard metal floor. The sound of an engine revvs sharply as the rattling vehicle tears along. Her ears are ringing; sounds seem to be coming from underwater. Her head feels like its splitting open. She tries to move, but her good arm is fastened to a bar low down in the wall. Her feet are tied together. She pulls with her arm, slides herself back until she’s in a sitting position. Only then can she look around properly. There’s a young man sitting watching her warily, knife in hand. He is hairless, his eye sockets blackened and lips scarred. He would look like death himself if it wasn’t for the reddish clay smeared over his head and face. She looks around wildly, but there’s no-one else to be seen. She remembers the shooting, the frantic roar of bikes…the whole world seemed to shudder, a noise louder than anything she’d ever heard before. It seemed so close – _how was she not dead?_ Then she remembers…her mother’s body pinning her down…the smell of burning. She clenches, nausea rising.

“Shambo!” the red death-man calls out. “She’s up!”  

This rouses her. “Mum…where’s mum?” She tries to pull her hand through the cuff securing her to the wall. He makes no reply. “ _Where’s my mother?!_ ” she screams hoarsely, as the metal edges tear at her wrist.  

“Shambo!” the man yells, louder. The vehicle rattles to a halt. A screen slides open and the driver’s cab is in view. An older man with tufts of grey hair sticks his head through to take in the situation.  

“Settle _down_ , your mother’s in the other ride.” After a pause, he adds, “She’s fine.” The younger man glances at him.  

“There was an explosion. _How – can – she – be fine_?” Furiosa asks, trying not to panic against her bonds. She was sick with shock and dread.  

“Look wait ‘til we camp up for the night. You’ll see her then. Not far now.”  

*

They leave a deep blue sky behind. As she curls up against the wall of the vehicle, hugging her tied legs tightly, she glares at the man sitting near. It’s hard to distinguish much under his grotesque paint. He’s wearing a loose, dirty shirt and baggy dark pants covered in pockets. He looks troubled, uncertain, but less wary now that she’s awake and her rage appears spent. The driver’s slide is still open and a fiery glow is flooding through from ahead, dazzling him. If only she had her hand free…but her wrist is raw and bleeding, she can do no more. The vehicle judders to a halt and the back doors swing open. Furiosa is permitted to get out of the Rover. Her feet are tied together loosely, so she would be unable to run even if she wasn’t well enough secured by the need to see her mother. A small blue hatchback is parked up nearby. The driver gets out, shuffles round to the back and opens the boot. “This one’s fucked, Sham!” he yells. The older man gives him an angry look. In the back of the vehicle, where back seats once had been, there are two figures. One is a skinny young man dressed like the others. He’s fussing over what at first looked like a pile of blankets on the floor. He fills a cup of water from a canister by his side. Furiosa looks closer, looks past the two men blocking her view. “Mum…?” her voice cracks.

The pile of blankets quivers slightly. Furiosa sees her mother’s face, ashen white under a layer of grime. _No blood_ , Furiosa thinks, hopefully. But then the blanket is pulled back by the skinny boy. “ _Awwwno…mum_ …” Furiosa wails, raising her hands helplessly to her head. She doesn’t want to believe what her eyes are telling her. The fabric of her mother’s trousers have been cut away and the skinny man is bathing them with water. The skin looks like it has come away in places from the severity of the burns. Her torso seemed to have escaped the worst of the blast, but her legs were a horrific sight. Stunned, Furiosa pawed at her mother’s face and hands in an attempt to rouse her. Mary was conscious, but in a detached, lethargic state. After a few moments, she focused on her daughter’s face and smiled a little. “Fury…you’re alright…” The relief seemed to take all the force out of her and she sank into oblivion. The men returned to the Rover to give their prisoners some privacy. Not like they'd be going anywhere. 

*

When Mary returned to consciousness, Furiosa was holding her hand and gazing at her in blank despair. “Fury…it’s alright.” 

“But how…you must be in so much pain…” Furiosa protested. “You must be in shock, or something…” 

“I can’t feel it…is it bad?” The look on her daughter’s face spoke volumes. Mary tries to move, but it feels all wrong. The truth dawns. She can’t feel it because she can’t feel _anything_. She can move her arms, but that’s it. “Must have hurt my back…” she whispered. “Fury…be brave. I don’t think I’m going to be able to get up again. But it doesn’t hurt.” 

Furiosa looked down. The blanket her mother was lying on was stained with blood. Closer inspection showed that her mother’s ribs were bound tightly, but she could see no wound. “Hey!” she called, to bring their captors over. “What happened to her?” she pleaded. 

The older one spoke. “Got caught in the blast. Bit of shrapnel in her spine. We had to pull it out. Got burned” he added, somewhat redundantly. Furiosa suddenly thought of her mother’s plans for the new baby when it came. Seemed like a lifetime ago. The tears that hadn’t come yet were pricking her eyelids. _No…don’t think_. 

“ _Why_ did you attack us? Why take us? What did we ever do to you?” she demanded. She’d never seen these strange tribe before, had heard nothing of them. 

“We’re taking you to the Citadel” the youngest one spoke now, eyes wide. Like this was supposed to mean something. 

“ _Why?_ ” she repeated. 

“You’ll be well looked after” the tall one chipped in. “It’ll be way better that what you’re used to, for sure.” 

“You sound like you think you’re doing us a favour here!” she spat, losing her temper. “Why'd you have to blow us up if it’s all that great?” 

“Well…you shot at us first…”  

Furiosa shook her head. This conversation was going nowhere. She calmed herself and tried again. “So are we slaves? Is that why you’re taking us to this…Citadel?” 

The tall one looked offended. “We don’t keep _slaves_ at the Citadel.” 

“Looks like slaves to me” she retorted. “If you don’t have a _choice_ , then you’re a slave.” She appealed to the older one. “Please, just tell me...what's happening?” 

He took a breath. “Okay. We’re taking you…” he looked at Mary and looked away quickly. “We were taking you as a gift to the Immortan. So he’ll let us come home.” 

Furiosa looked at him for a moment. _Then_ she lost her temper. Fist clenched and nostrils flaring, as she took a step closer to him. “Wait. So you’ve done this because _you want to go home_. Can you hear yourself? Do you have any _idea_ how fucked up that sounds?” she yelled and kicked out at the vehicle as much as her bonds would allow. The man was silent. 

As her anger faded, she realised something - such a little thing, but it was enough to break her at last. Saying _the F word_ was frowned upon until you’re grown up. Then the tears came, with the realisation that her mum would probably never tell her off again for swearing, or anything else. She hadn't heard a word of it, might never wake up again. Furiosa dropped to her knees under the weight of it. She was grown up now, for sure. She’d always striven for that elusive thing…without imagining what it might mean. You were grown up when you didn’t have a mother to make you a feel like a child. She’d gladly be a little kid all her life if her mother could be fixed. But she was bleeding, burned, broken. She wasn’t going to get up again. 

*

Furiosa curled up next to her mother in the back of the blue car that night. The skinny man joined the car’s driver in the front. Furiosa slept a little, while her mother drifted in and out of what might be mistaken for sleep.

*

The next morning, they drove on. Furiosa had refused point blank to return to the larger vehicle. There was room for both of them, she insisted. The older man nodded agreement. So they drove to the west. Furiosa’s attention was divided between her mother and the road. Mountains rose around them. Briefly, they stopped. The tall man got out and waved his arms at someone unseen. There was a brief conversation, then the sound of bikes departing. Furiosa’s heart leapt for few moment. Had the Mothers chased them down? But no, they wouldn’t be having any friendly conversation with these men, their captors. The tall man got back into the Rover. The youngest of them shouted back to her from the passenger seat. “Just paying the toll.” They carried on their way. The sun was beginning to sink again. _How much further?_  

*

As twilight fell, there was a shout from the front of the car, jolting Furiosa awake. “Eyes right!” and “Fuck's sake, of course _these_ arseholes’d show up.” They were soon flanked on both sides by spiked jalopies. Sparks were flying from the Rover as the attackers’ circular saws bit into its chassis. 

“What do they want?” Furiosa yelled.  

“Everything! Cars, bodies, they’ll strip us bare and chew our bones!” came the reply. _Not a rescue party, then_. 

“Let me help!” she shouted, as the skinny man swung out of the car door, aiming a rocket launcher. She looked out of the window towards the other vehicle. The tall man was crouched on the roof of the Rover, hurling long sticks that exploded when they hit. They’d taken out two of the spiked vehicles, but more were bearing down on them and the Rover was struggling to maintain speed. “ _Let me help_ ” she repeated. The driver looked at her suspiciously but handed her a long-gauge rifle. She glared at him. “This is my mother’s gun.” He yelled back, “Good! You’ll know how to use it then!”  

She got to her feet, wrenched open the sunroof and quickly brought her head and shoulders through. She shot once and a spiked car veered away and overturned. _One man, one bullet_ she thought, _even in half-light_. She reloaded and took out several others. The attack was weakening. The remaining spiked cars were speeding off. Clearly they weren’t the soft target they’d been taken for. 

*

They camped that night by the flames of the wrecked vehicles. Furiosa, feet still tied, was holding a cup of water to her mother’s lips when the skinny man approached. “That was some touch back there. Might've expected it, the way your lot can shoot!” 

Furiosa sighed. It would be worth a try. “Won’t you just take us back?” she looked at them imploringly. “Mum’s not going to last long, but at least she can die at home.”  

The skinny one looked at the old one, spoke in a low voice. “Sham, what about it? She helped us out a bit there. Might owe her one?” The older one shook his head stubbornly. “Can’t do it. Got to go on. Besides, she’ll be well looked after.” The skinny one nodded half-heartedly. “True enough. They get all the best stuff. Sure we’re nearly there anyway.” 

*

Furiosa held her mother’s hand as the night wore on. _We’re nearly there_ , they said. 

*

As the sun rose, Mary made an extra effort to rouse herself. She could sense the end of her journey coming. But she wept silently in frustration that she would have to leave her daughter. She was too young to face… _whatever it would be_ …alone.

 _Pull yourself together, Mary..._  

“Furiosa!” she took her daughter’s hand and looked her in the face. Tried to assemble her thoughts, to give some advice, the last advice she’d ever give. “Remember who you are. However long it takes to get away, don’t forget…you are one of the Vuvalini, from the clan Swaddle Dog. Furiosa Jabassa. And you always will be…Do what you do best. Proud of you, my little Fury…”  

Furiosa wiped the tears from her mother’s face. Mary smiled. “It’ll take more than this to take my girl down.” Her eyes dulled a little.  

“Mum? Does it hurt?” 

“No love, it doesn’t hurt.” She reached up to her daughter’s face and pulled her towards her. Their foreheads touched. And she lost consciousness. 

Mary Jabassa died as the Citadel’s lift descended to meet them. As they slowly climbed, higher than Furiosa had ever been in her life, small white-chalked boys clustered around the blue car. 

“Has she gone to Valhalla?” whispered one. “Looks like she died historic.” 

Furiosa replied quietly, “She’s gone to the stars.” 

The boy interlaced the tips of his fingers and bowed his head. “Witness.” 


	7. Slipping Between The Cracks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In any administration, if the proper paperwork isn’t filled in, people get overlooked. The Citadel is no exception.

“New recruit for you!”

The two women standing by the window visibly jumped at the sudden intrusion. The Organic Mechanic’s assistant barged into the Vault, dragging Furiosa behind him. One of the women, with more tattoos than Furiosa had ever seen on one body, stepped forward. “We weren’t expecting anyone. We haven’t made any preparations!” she protested.

“Surprise, surprise, then!” he thrust Furiosa forward. She staggered slightly and stood warily in the circular room. The other woman, tall and proud like a queen, looked at her with an expression of undisguised disdain. “She can’t be a breeder – she’s crooked. Doesn't the Immortan care about his heirs these days? Is he so _desperate_?” She stepped forward and gestured at Furiosa. “Look at her. She’s got an arm missing. Tainted! It’s disgusting to bring her here, here of all places. What are you trying to do?”

Furiosa, taken aback, was about going to protest at this unprovoked onslaught but, on second thoughts, kept silent. She’d seen a fleeting expression in the tall woman’s eye when she looked at her. It wasn’t a wink, or anything so unsubtle, just a look that said, _Trust me_.

Imperiously, the angry woman turned to the assistant, a hamster-faced boy with patchy dark hair and teeth like a kicked-in fence. “Go to the Organic and tell him to do his job!” she spat. The tattooed woman added, “Leave the girl here and we’ll send for you when she’s ready for examination.” The assistant grinned unpleasantly at Furiosa and shuffled out.

*

Furiosa stood facing them, with signs of recent grief and dogged defiance. The tattooed woman looked at her thoughtfully. “I know your eyes…seen them before, but in a different face. Same expression too…” She thought for a moment and shook her head.

“Who are you, girl? How did you get brought here?” asked the tall woman, in a more conciliatory tone that she’d used previously, though that wouldn’t be a challenge.

“They took me... killed my mother. Said they needed _breeders_ …” Furiosa’s voice shook with repressed sobs.

“But not to give warning? Doesn’t sound like she’s come through official channels” mused the tattooed woman. “That was a quick spot, seeing her one arm, Lyra. I assume you’re ahead of me on this.”

The tall woman nodded. “We might get her away from here without a fuss.”

Furiosa looked at them curiously. “Are you prisoners too?”

“Yes” the tall woman replied, dully. “Everyone here is owned by Immortan Joe.” The venom in her tone was indisputable. “He controls the water. So he controls all of us.”

“Not the skeleton men, though?” Furiosa asked.

“Especially them. They just don’t know they’re prisoners.”

“How can someone own the water?”

“It’s hidden, deep below this rock. Only _he_ controls the pumps…”

“People here are things, his tools to be used. Their lives in useless wars, their bodies for breeding, their blood, their milk, their strength…”

Furiosa’s head was aching with the rapidity of their words.

“But listen” hissed the tall woman. “We don’t have much time. You’ve been brought here as a breeder – do you know what that means?”

“I…think so” Furiosa replied. Her mother’s words came back to her…the serious, earnest conclusion to the talk they’d had…seemed so long ago now, though only a few months past. _Don’t ever treat anyone like that, or let anyone do that to you, ok?_

“You don’t want to be a breeder… _listen to me_ ” the tall woman continued, grabbing Furiosa’s wrist. “You’re lured here with food and water, and don’t have to work or fight, but you have no idea…”

The room is spinning. Furiosa tries to listen, to stop the rising panic. Then she hits upon the thought she’s been searching for, something she’d been missing. “Is that why you said I was crooked – because of my arm?” she blurts out.

“Were you born without an arm?” was the stern reply. It wasn’t a question.

“Yes! And my brother had no legs.” Furiosa declared, after a pause.

“That’s the girl” nodded the tall woman, approvingly.

“The water was bad where I was born, nothing would grow right.” Furiosa was getting the hang of it now.

“She’s got the idea. Okay, but it’s not that simple. They won’t just pat you on the head and drive you back home again. You’ll be thrown off the lift to the Wretched if they can’t find another use for you pretty quick. And they won’t go out of their way to find a job for you.”

“There ain't no careers advisor in this place” the tattooed woman agreed.

“What can you do?” the tall woman asked.

“I can fight. I’m a good shot. Can ride a motorbike.” Furiosa replied determinedly. _And I can tell stories._

Something in the gangly urchin’s face and wiry frame made them less surprised than they might otherwise have been. “But what about your arm?” the tattooed woman asked.

“Didn’t need it. Got by without.”

“That’s right, you don’t miss what you never had, right?” she prompted.

“No.”

“She could be a War Boy” suggested the tall woman. “It’s a hard life…and short” replied the tattooed woman, looking pained. “But better than the Wretched have, I’ll bet.”

“Couldn’t I just run? Leave?” Furiosa pleaded.

“With no water? And what if they follow you, just to see where you were heading? If you ever made it that far.”

Furiosa imagined a Green Place overrun with skeleton men. If it hadn’t happened already.

“No – stay here. Survive. Get stronger if you can. Make plans.” The tall woman’s eyes had a detached intensity as she said this. “I’ve made so many plans…” she muttered to herself.

“What do I need to know?” Furiosa asked the tattooed woman, as she started to move restlessly about the room.

“Take a new name. What _is_ your name anyway?”

“Furiosa.”

“Good. But too much of a girl’s name. Something more neutral. Short. Mechanical. They worship machines here.”

“Don’t be a girl” the tall woman added. “Girls don’t fare well here. Bind up your chest, when you get one. They’ll shave your head, paint you white…”

“The Boys here don’t live long. They either get sick or throw themselves at death – usually both. If you don’t get sick, and don’t die, questions might be asked.”

“Joe is their god. They want to die for him…to go to Valhalla.”

Furiosa remembered the skeleton boy and his gesture. She made a V8 with her hands.

“That’s right” nodded the tattooed woman.

“Who _is_ this Joe?” Furiosa asked, baring her teeth at the thought of the unseen man who’d dragged her into this nightmare. “Shouldn’t I know more about him?”

“Best not – the more you know, the harder it is to fit in. Be blind, don’t think like a person – not outwardly, anyway.”

_Too much to tell, not enough time…_

*

“Avoid the Organic Mechanic. He doesn’t believe in pain…and sometimes he likes to experiment. Better to fix yourself.”

“Remember…this is not an escape for you. You’re _devastated_ not to be a breeder. It’s a failure, a disgrace. You’re being demoted. But you’ll jump at any chance to serve the Immortan…got that?”

There was a sudden hammering at the Vault door. Furiosa’s heart leapt into her throat, but the two women resumed their former attitudes by the window. She tried to breathe calmly, to remember all she’d been told, to play her part…

The tattooed woman let the Organic Mechanic in, with his assistant. He looked flustered and indignant, his jowled face flushed and his grey hair wild. “Where’s the new breeder? What do I hear about her being crooked?” The Organic had been at the wrong end of Joe’s fists often enough to know not to offer him tainted merchandise. His assistant looked on with much interest.

The tattooed woman took a breath and seized Furiosa by the stump. “This girl was born wrong. Her whole generation were missing limbs at birth.”

“She tell you this?” he tutted in surprise. “Daft little bitch...just talked yourself out of a cushy life there, eh?”

Furiosa looked up suddenly, looking stricken. “Oh! You tricked me!” she accused the tattooed woman. She sobbed a little for effect.

“Wait, let me see” the Organic muttered, feeling he ought to pretend to some medical expertise. He took his hands out of his coat pockets and took Furiosa by the stump. “There’s a scar here – sure your arm wasn’t _cut_ off?”

Sobbing hysterically, Furiosa attempts to backtrack on her ‘mistake’. “Yes, it was cut off! I was confused. She tricked me!” pointing at the tattooed woman. The Organic looked at her suspiciously, shaking his head.

The tall woman sneered. “She’ll say anything now she knows what she’s given up. Look at this scarring. It’s just from use. Never seen the Wretched drag themselves about on their stumps?”

This point satisfied the Organic as to Furiosa, but he frowned as he tucked his chubby hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “The Immortan won’t be happy though. He’s badly short of Wives right now. Been ages since we’ve had only the one.” Then he brightened. “But then again, the Boys who brought her in – her and the older one – didn’t exactly go through the proper channels...” he winked his beady eye conspiratorially at the women. “Weren’t sure of the quality of the catch. And the old one got shredded along the way…sooo, no paperwork, eh?” he beamed, as if looking to be congratulated. “Makes my job easier anyway” he concluded.

“We won’t say anything if you don’t” reassured the tattooed woman, forcing a smile.

“So what to do with her, eh?” the Organic nodded at Furiosa. She felt numb, as befitted the role she had to play.

“Take her to the War Boys” the tattooed woman suggested. “She’s a bit of a scrapper, if her scars are anything to go by. Probably have to be extra tough with only one arm. And if not – well…” she tailed off. “But first…” she grabbed a pair of scissors, advancing on Furiosa who stepped away in alarm. “I have to cut her hair off.”

“Hmm, can I have the hair when you’re done?” asked the Organic’s assistant. The tattooed woman ignored him. She took Furiosa’s shoulder, forcing her down on a bench, and commenced clipping. As her bloodied and tangled curls fell around her, Furiosa heard a whisper in her ear, barely audible. “I’m Giddy, she’s Lyra. Remember us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My mental image of the old Organic is basically Jim Broadbent as Dr Rossi in 'Filth'. He's not quite as unpleasant as his young assistant, but he definitely lacks self-awareness and empathy.  
> While 'Filth' is technically a comedy, it is DAAARK. Be told.


	8. Furiosa Incognita

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Six thousand days in six thousand words (more or less).  
> Sixteen vignettes of Furiosa's time as a War Boy and Imperator.
> 
> The previous seven chapters have been a slow run-up to this one, the penultimate chapter in this series.
> 
> Disclaimer - I wanted to fit 17 years into one chapter. So it kind of had to be pretty concise. I hugely admire a minimal writing style, but I'm probably only achieving patchy, sparse, full-of-holes or incomprehensible. So if you're going 'er...what?' at any point, leave a comment and I'll try and fill it out a bit.

**1: First Impressions _(Day 3)_**

The Organic Mechanic takes the bewildered girl by the shoulder and steers her through the Vault door. Handed over to the Organic’s assistant, she's led from finely furnished rooms down, and down again to dank dripping corridors. Like passing from one phase of a nightmare into another, she's passed again to a skeleton man… _a War Boy, she must call them now_. Furiosa can’t help but think to herself over and over again, _this isn’t real – it’s just a game_. One of the elaborate plays she dreamed up with her friends back in the Green Place. The scene suddenly opens to a poorly lit atrium. The War Boy approaches a muscular man with a black smeared brow. Bowing low with a V8 gesture, he points Furiosa out to the man, who approaches. “What’s your name, boy?” he demands.

 _She hasn’t thought of a name_. Something short, something neutral, something mechanical. But she’s panicking, her mind stuck on a loop, _Furiosa…Furiosa…Incognito…Incognita_. It seems like an eternity, but she blurts out…

“Nnn, Cog…sir!” she salutes a V8.

The War Boy nudges her and hisses “Imperator!”

“ _My name is Cog...Imperator!_ ” she corrects herself.

“What can you do, Cog?” the Imperator demands.

“Shoot, fight and ride a bike, Imperator!”

The Imperator cuffs her round the head. “You’ve only got one arm, Cog! What use is a War Boy with one arm?”

“Never had it, Imperator! Don’t need it, Imperator!”

“Right, show me” the man sighs. “Take this boy to the Pits!”

The War Boy seizes her by the arm and half leads, half drags her to the centre of the atrium where a crowd of glaring men, whitened, with black eye sockets await.

 _This is real…this is not a game_ , she realises.

*

One of the War Boys is selected from the group. He looks young, and barely half a head taller than Furiosa but with more weight and, more importantly, the confidence of one for whom this is just another day. He takes a look at Furiosa, doesn't look impressed. For the second time that day, she's faced with someone who looks positively insulted by her presence. But this time it's not an act. "I'll make this quick" he growls. "Taking the piss..." He mutters under his breath as he steps forward.

She's not ready for this. The first punch knocks her sprawling. Laughs ring out around the room. Tasting blood in her mouth, she decides...stay down, give up. Or give this everything she's got, and get a chance for another day. She gets to her feet, head ringing. Jeers and catcalls. She darts at him suddenly, getting a swift blow in around his stomach, knocking the air out of him. As he doubles up, she aims a knee at his face. Impact, but not the crunch of bone she had naively hoped for. He's winded and bleeding from the nose, but just looks more up for the fight now there's the possibility of some kind of a challenge. He aims a punch, which she dodges, only to be grasped in an armlock as he gets behind her. He's holding her tightly but, as he's unused to an antagonist with a shorter than usual forelimb, she wrestles herself free. In her vehemence, she feels a sharp pain in her shoulder, but it barely registers. She jabs her elbow into his lower back and, as he buckles awkwardly, she kicks his feet out from under him.

To a neutral observer, the battle would seem like a test rather than a death-match, but Furiosa was not a neutral observer. She was fighting for her future, her life. Which is why she stepped back and aimed a vicious kick at the War Boy's head. She connected with his jaw, there was a crack and he lay still.

" _Fuk-a-shima_ " snorted a white-painted spectator, " _Take it easy, willya?_ ". Angry mutterings, amused chucklings, shouts of "My turn!". The Imperator intervened at this point. "Alright, everyone _simmer down_ " he called out to the crowd as he grasped Furiosa's trembling arm. "Okay, you'll do." he said impatiently, and turned to address the room generally, in the knowledge that the order would be obeyed by someone, he didn't care who. "Get the new kid branded!" he yelled, before adding, with a sigh, "And _someone_ get Ace to the Organic!"

**2: Hope Springs _(Day 10)_**

She could still smell her own burning flesh from the brand she would carry 'til death. It was starting to itch already, her young skin healing quickly, but the memory would persist in her dreams. It wasn't the worst pain she'd ever experienced, not by a long shot. But the indignity of being _branded like a cow_... a part of her would always belong to this place.

She already looked the part. White-painted, shaven-headed, dressed in baggy black pants covered in pockets. Her boots were only thing she wore that was a relic of her old life. They'd been newly soled that summer and the quartermaster had declared she didn't need a new pair. Visually, she _could_ pass for a boy. But, for all that, she felt uncomfortable going without a shirt, though there was nothing to cover up yet. She would deal with that later - for now, she just needed to fit in. She kept her head down, watched and tried to copy what the others did. For now, it seemed to be working.

She was musing on these matters as she walked to the garages to deliver a package she'd been entrusted with. She heard voices in earnest conversation around the corner. Two voices that sounded _very familiar_. She gritted her teeth as she recognised them. But she should contain her urge to confront them, just walk away, not draw attention to herself. She caught some fragments of their discussion...

"...nothing to stop me sticking around now. Can't believe Dux got shredded. Talk about timing! If I keep my mouth shut, make myself useful in the garage, and don't piss anybody off...it can all go back to normal. It was no odds to anyone else whether I was here or not." This was the voice of the older of her captors, positively jubilant. _Nice for some_.

"We'll miss you, Sham."

"So you're not for staying, yourself?"

"Nah, got to stick by Sharkey. Probably head off in a couple of days once we've got the paperwork sorted. Though you know how long that can take..." the voice of the 'tall man' replied.

Through the clamour of her vengeful thoughts, a small voice in her head was whispering, trying to make itself heard. _This is how you get out of here..._ She took a deep breath and stepped round the corner.

" _You – you owe me_." she spoke low and determined, adding bitterly, "You've got what you wanted...without even bringing a 'gift' after all."

Shambo and Champ gaped at this apparition. Who was this kid? The voice sounded familiar...and the angry expression under the white paint was a clue. "Oh...it's you. Heard you'd ended up down here. Shame it didn't work out in the Vault" Shambo replied, awkwardly.

"There's no reason for me to be here" Furiosa managed, suppressing a shudder at this reminder of how things _could have been_. "Doesn't help you, and...I just want to go home. _You_ know what that's like." she pleaded, trying to attack him at his weak point.

"Okay, I see what you're saying..." Shambo conceded "...but what can I do?"

"You're here now, might as well make the best of it" interjected Champ, with his usual aggravating optimism. "It's a good life, and you look like you're fitting in grand already."

Furiosa turned to him "You said you were leaving soon. Can't you take me with you? I can hide in your...Rover." _Then I could make my way home again_ , she thought, picturing her return to the Green Place.

Champ shrugged. "Doubt it. It's a tight inventory. Can't just put you in an empty crate, they'd check."

"Can't guarantee anything. But we'll see what we can do." Shambo concluded, reluctantly. "So much for keeping my head down", he groaned. "What's your name?"

"Ask for Cog."

**3: Hope is a Mistake _(Day 28)_**

She'd been so excited the first few days after meeting them. _She was going home_. She could see that the older one, Shambo, understood a little. For all that he'd wanted to get to the Citadel, he seemed to get it that it would never be home for her. All her hope was with him, that he'd try and make amends. But weeks had passed since then. She'd watched out for either of them, ears ever straining for any mention of their names, or a 'Rover' or 'Sharkey'. Although sick with tension, she'd never given up hope. Until someone came to her with a small package wrapped in a ragged shirt.

"From Shambo" the messenger said as he thrust the package into her hand. She unwrapped it, and found what looked like a leather belt. "Did he say anything? Any message? He was going to help me with something" The messenger shook his head. "Well, hope it wasn't anything too important, 'cos he's dead. Had the fever last week or two. Found him in his bunk yesterday morning. Night sweats got him. Left this for you. You're Cog, yeah?" She nodded. Hope wasn't gone yet though. She looked closer at the belt. It looked more like a bandolier, complete with a set of knives. "Good bit of kit, that. You'll want to keep that close, 'else someone'll have it" the messenger added, helpfully.

She turned it over, hoping to find a message, a clue as to what the plan had been, if there was any plan. Something was scratched onto the underside of the leather. She held it up to the light and her heart sank as she read the words, _NEXT BEST THING._

**4: The Long Game _(Day 104)_**

Furiosa remembers some of the Mothers talking about Before. How there were women who used to run so much that they didn't have a monthly bleed. It had put Furiosa off rapid movement for a few days until it was explained to her that they would run more than forty clicks at a time. _Just for fun_. And they were usually incredibly skinny, like, no fat on them _at all_. Okay. Maybe it wasn't the running that was key. Running wouldn't be an option, anyway. Water was too tightly rationed. It'd just be a slow and boring form of suicide. So it's all about being incredibly skinny. What if she restricted her food intake, just ate enough to keep her functional, sufficiently strong to do what she needed to do. It's not like food was abundant in the Barracks, but the Citadel seemed to be aware it didn't make a whole lot of sense to starve their fighting force.

The first month, she passed out about, what? Once a week. At least. Okay, clearly overdoing it. She steadily increased the amount until the spells of lightheadedness got less frequent. Of course, it depended on the amount of physical activity she would have to do that day. She planned her days like clockwork, so she would know how much to eat. Because she couldn't _risk_ becoming a woman.

**5: (False) Sense of Security _(Day 623)_**

Furiosa is almost fourteen years old. She's made the most of her talents, made a name for herself among her peers, whom she'd reluctantly accepted some time past that they weren't actually intending to kill her. She might even be said to have friends. Despite having broken his jaw (probably _because she'd broken_ _it_ ), _s_ he's made it onto Ace's crew of trainees, which had a good reputation for being selected by the best Imperators. Specifically, the ones who realised War Boys weren't merely making a brief stop on their way to Valhalla. Even the fact that she now had to bind up her chest didn't bother her much. Despite her food restriction (and she was as lean as a Spartan by now), she still had these little budding _things_ that the boys didn't have. The first time she did it, she was so self-conscious. She expected everyone to turn and point, even though the bandolier she'd always wore masked the effect of the off-white wrappings. But no-one seemed to care much. It was noticed, sure, and some nudged each other and nodded over to her. But they had clearly seen such sights before. She'd worn her wrappings for almost sixty days now and it was...fine.

The self-enforced feeling of isolation was getting wearisome. She wanted to confide in someone. Some of the Boys were a good laugh, but they were young and she didn't think they'd understand her story. Ace might be okay. He was good at what he did, was a loyal War Boy, but didn't seem to be as religiously vocal about the Immortan's glory as some of the others were. He looked out for his crew. She felt she could _maybe_ trust him...

She was turning this idea over in her mind as she crossed the courtyard one evening. _I'll do it tonight,_ she thought.

She felt the impact through her boots. A warm splash on the side of her face. Then her ears registered the thud. Furiosa turned slowly...and her stomach dropped. A figure, dressed all in white. Long fair hair streamed out from her head...gory with the blood and brains that had spread out on the stone like a halo. Furiosa sees a scrap of paper clutched in the dead hand stretching out towards her. Reaching out hesitatingly, she takes the bloodied slip of paper in shaking fingers. The sun was down but there was enough moonlight to read the words _FURIOSA IT ENDS HERE_ written in a shaky but determined hand.

Running feet, shouts of horror and speculation. She stood with the paper in her hand, barely hearing the clamour around her. "The Immortan's wife!" "Did she jump?" "Prob'ly...couldn't have an heir for the Immortan, I heard" "Need to send out for some more wives now...!"

So Furiosa never did confide in Ace, or anyone else.

*

That's when the nightmares really began. Always, she'd be falling, the floor opening up below her. Which shows how little dreams make sense. In reality, she would be going _up._ She would wake in a cold, trembling sweat. Which was easily confused with the symptoms of War Boy night sweats. There's always a silver lining.

**6: Frustration _(Day 1051)_**

The bunk room was proving a new kind of challenge that she certainly _hadn't_ been warned about. How could anyone prepare for this, though? They all lived in close quarters. _Very_ close. Two Boys to a bunk. Inevitably, bunkmates would get...close. And not just to keep warm.

Almost every night it was, "Hey, sort me out, Crank" and "Thanks mate, that was shine." And that was fine. It was the intermediate sounds that were the problem. Once one pair started, it would set them all off. She was fifteen years old, packed up close to a War Boy...who was _definitely male,_ and whose particular musky smell she was becoming acutely aware of...surrounded by the sounds of sex. It was torture. She was acknowledged to be _probably_ female, but she'd spread a rumour that she was a freemartin.

One particularly trying night she lay, breathing heavily, listening. He must have been awake too – his voice made her jump. "Looks like you need sorted out, Cog" he chuckled sleepily. _Yes,_ she thought, _I do_. She wanted him to touch her, but she knew she couldn't even touch herself. "I can't" she muttered. "Oh yeah. What's with that, anyway?" he mumbled, curiously. "Don't have the right bits" she sighed. "They didn't know if I was a boy or a girl when I was born."

"Ah well. Can't ask you to sort me out, then. Wouldn't be fair. Give and take, eh?" And he rolled over again.

**7: Failure _(Day 1227)_**

It had been a long, long time since Furiosa had cried at the sight of her own blood. It wasn't much, and she was too numb to feel any pain, but she knew it would weaken her badly. All her defences had been for nothing, and she wept silently at her own failure.

She was fifteen years old, and she was having her first bleed. In a different life, if the Mothers and the War Boys had never collided, this would have happened years ago. And there would have been a party. Instead, she was huddled in a damp barracks, desperately trying to hide what she was.

**8: Plan B _(Day 1401)_**

She knew something had changed. She knew how quickly rumours spread in the dank, badly-ventilated atmosphere of the Barracks. And the Organic's assistant was the source, she knew it. She'd seen Leech and Scalpel whisper together and nod in her direction. They'd been on Blood Shed duty for as long as she knew them, so it made sense. She'd have to watch her back.

Sure enough, later that day..."Hey Cog. I heard you were a breeder. Bet you wish you were back up there, 'stead of slumming it here with us lot, eh?"

"I was never a breeder."

"That's not what I heard. Organic says you were all in white, all shiny."

"I was crooked – I was _never_ a breeder" she gritted her teeth. She'd turned to ice inside. _"Don't_...just don't."

"You don't look crooked to me. Why don't you show us the goods?" He made a grab at her. She dodged and snatched a knife from her bandolier, swiping at him. He evaded her shaking hand and slammed her against the stone wall. "Likes to play, does she? I bet the Immortan would like to play with you."

"Told you...I'm crooked. He sent me away." she gasped. By now Leech's arm was pressing against her throat.

"I'll be the judge of that. Hold her, Scalp." Leech ripped off her bandolier and started untying her binding, "Not so much fight in you without your little knives..." He kicked her feet from under her and she fell awkwardly, one knee bent under her.

As he was busy unbuckling her belt, she wrenched her arm free from Scalpel's grip, grabbed the tiny knife she kept in her boot and stabbed upwards, slicing into his groin. Leech shrieked, blood gushing from his severed anatomy. He dropped to his knees, grasping at himself. Furiosa was able to get to her feet without resistance now – Scalpel had fled. Though shaking with shock and rage, she calmly wiped the blood from her face, rebuckled her trousers and scooped up her wrappings, looping them around her. She reached for her bandolier, selected her longest knife...

"Fair go, Cog" a small crowd had gathered, drawn by the shrill cries of Leech. "He won't do it again!"

Tight-lipped, she stepped behind her attacker and stabbed him deep in the ribs, just where his heart would be. "Fucking right he won't."

*

Ace finds her, shortly after, trying to rebind her chest properly with one shaking hand. "Let me help with that..."

"No...look...if I accept your help, I'll start depending on it. I can't afford that." she retorted. "This is my problem. I'll take care of it."

"You know, the Organic could...make it so you don't have to do that" he said, reluctantly.

She glared at him. "I'm going to pretend you didn't suggest that."

Ace knew it was only the truly desperate War Boys who would turn to the Organic for help, especially with _that_ kind of problem. And they didn't tend to have much fight left in them afterwards. No, Ace knew Cog wasn't like that. He had very little idea _what_ Cog was. He... _she? No, there was no 'she' in the barracks_...always seemed like he was waiting for a trapdoor to open under his feet. He fought with a vicious energy, but not getting any enjoyment from it like some did. Ace had once found a dingo cowering a lower basement and had barely got out alive. Cog was like that...he fought more like a cornered animal than a hunter. Ace knew which was the most dangerous of the two, which had the most to lose. He had no idea what Cog was afraid of, wondered if he'd ever find out.

"No, I've got a better idea than that." Furiosa concluded.

*

One War Boy stalks another along a dark corridor. The prey is jumpy, looking over their shoulder every so often, sensing danger. But they'd be ready. Choosing the moment carefully, the hunted War Boy spins round and slashes out with a knife at the predator.

An arm slams into his throat, and a fist into his chest, knocking the air out of him, and the knife from his fingers. "You didn't really think I'd let you get away with that, Scalp?" hissed a voice.

"It was Leech" Scalpel gasped hoarsely. "I didn't know what he was going to do."

"I believe you" she relaxed her grip slightly. "That's why I'm going to do this _first_." Furiosa buried her long knife into his chest, right up to the bone handle. Only when Scalpel gave his last breath, only _then_ did she stick it into his crotch.

*

She'd killed before, but this was the first time she'd really intended to. This was how it would have to be. She'd have to assume that everyone knew - she was no boy, no freemartin. She'd have to make it clear she wasn't an easy target. Well, she'd made a pretty good start - two killed in cold blood on one day. 

Sixteen. Today's the day you become a woman. _Happy birthday_.

**9: Compliance _(Day 1628)_**

The raids were the worst part. She had to join in, be one of them. It wasn't particularly violent, no-one was killed unnecessarily. The War Boys were under orders to take prisoners, to keep them as intact as possible. When they captured people...what happened to them? She didn't know. But she could guess. She had avoided the Blood Shed, barely had gone near the place. But she'd heard of the Blood Bags. You didn't need any particular skill to be able to bleed. And the Wives...she'd been there when they'd traded a young girl for six kilos of fresh produce. She'd been so excited about being the chosen wife of a god. What could Furiosa do? What could she say? Nothing.

**10: Rebellion _(Day 1802)_**

It got a little easier as she got older. Wiser. She knew what she could get away with, what would be noticed. And Ace understood, to an extent. That day, they had ridden out. Ace was driving the motorcycle, Furiosa rode pillion. She was the shot. Their bike was the first to reach the action. Buzzards had just about finished torturing a man. He seemed to be alone, but Furiosa had glimpsed movement from behind a rocky bluff. People were hidden. Furiosa took out six of the Buzzards within seconds before the rest of the crew had time to draw up. While Ace dealt with the remainder, Furiosa crept off to see whom the man had died to save. Five children, the eldest no older than thirteen. She gave them food and water and told them to keep out of sight, to make no noise. If Ace knew what she'd been doing, he said nothing. The official report was,  _Seven Buzzards killed, one scavenger._ _No survivors. Three vehicles obtained._ She'd probably only given the kids a slower death, but she could always hope they'd found a better fate...

**11: Sod's Law _(Day 2226)_**

Furiosa was Ace's second for years. It looked like he was on track for Imperator. But then he found a lump on his neck. And that was it. No half-life could be Imperator. He said he didn't mind. He was one of life's born sergeants. It would be less stressful that way. "Maybe it'll be you, after all, Cog."

But he didn't get sick. Even long after younger War Boys died soft or died historic, Ace was always there. She was glad.

**12: As if Things weren't Bad Enough _(Day 3194)_**

Furiosa paces the floor, trying to shake off the cloying atmosphere of the Blood Shed. She's just had a battle of wills with the Organic. The _new_ Organic. It was official now. The old sawbones was dead, finally. His assistant had been running the show for years though. He'd been very  _keen_ , and had insinuated himself into Joe's good graces. Consequently, things had been getting very steadily more unpleasant for the sick and injured lately.She'd always feared the assistant more than the old man. Little shit had a sadistic streak. Not so easily distracted as the old fella. It had been easy to dodge  _him._ He barely knew what day it was, most of the time. _This_  little slug always seemed to see what you didn't want him to see, didn't want  _anyone_ to see. And now he was in charge.

As lieutenant, her policy is to extract the sickest War Boys from the Blood Shed for her crew. To put them in the greatest position of danger, to allow them to die historic. She didn't believe in Valhalla, but even that was a million times better than dying slowly under the tender care of the Organic.

"I'll have you in here yet, _Cog_ " he taunted, spit glistening on his lower lip. "I'll see if you're fit for the Immortan. I bet you are..."

" _Tainted_ , remember" she spat, holding her stump in his face. She turned and walked off with her prize, trying not to look like she wanted to run.

**13: Imperator Furiosa _(Day 5062)_**

It's time to say goodbye to Cog. After more than five thousand days, Furiosa wants her name back. Now she's going to be Imperator, she can. They can't touch her now. She can risk it.

How did she get here? Strategy. Knowing when to strike and when to stay her hand. And, most importantly, out of her peer-group, she's the only one who's still alive. Every one of them dead, either gone to Valhalla or stolen in the night by their mysterious sickness. Everyone but Ace. He was nearly eleven thousand days old and, despite his gnarled body and twisted face ( _she still felt a bit bad about that_ ), he didn't look much closer to dying than when she first encountered him in the pit. He would be her second.

*

The promotion ceremony had begun. Furiosa was directly before Joe for the first time. She'd been an anonymous footsoldier until this moment, and had felt like a bug under a microscope every day of her life as a War Boy, but it was nothing, _nothing_ compared to standing in the focus of that cold blue gaze. And the smell of him turned her stomach. _Ugh. No wonder Lyra had jumped._

"Stand forth, Imperator! What is your name?"

Her voice never faltered as she replied "Furiosa!" She'd made her decision, for better or worse, and it'd only do herself harm to seem uncertain now.

As Joe leaned forward to drape the black scarf around her neck, he spoke in a low voice meant for only her to hear. "I believe you are the one that got away." Her insides turned to ice and her stomach clenched, but she managed to reply calmly and respectfully, "I was not worthy, Immortan." He slid his eyes over her, as if appraising her worthiness in a whole new way. He nodded thoughtfully. "Hmm...we shall see." He snapped his fingers, summoning the Organic. He conferred with him quietly, keeping his eyes on Furiosa all the while. Finally he addressed her. "Gareth here has informed me of your case. There seem to be several...irregularities which may or may not be worth investigating more fully. Perhaps an examination..."

The Organic leered at Furiosa as Joe went on, but her expression of pure undiluted menace made reconsider his strategy. He'd never been that much good at reading faces. His protected role as Organic meant he never really had to care much about the fine feelings of others, but...even he could see a promise of certain death in Furiosa's eyes if he laid a hand on her. Especially risky now she was Imperator...He'd have to tread very carefully.

So, he made what he thought was an ingratiating smile as he said, "Immortan, even _you_ have only so much seed to go around, and there are shinier objects for your attention already in the Vault, if I may say so." He sucked his teeth thoughtfully and added, "Besides, the arm..." He shook his head uncertainly and grimaced at Furiosa's stump.

"Hmph" Joe grunted, seeming satisfied with that line of logic. He stabbed a finger at Furiosa, "We'll keep you in reserve for now. But this arm...that won't do. Get it fixed." Furiosa gaped at him, despite herself. "Make yourself something, I don't know. I won't have a one-armed Imperator." He spoke like he was explaining something obvious to a slow child. Speaking louder to the assembled crowd, "For now, Imperator Furiosa, you will select a crew and take charge of the armoured bike division. You will eradicate the Rock Rider vermin that are infesting my territory. Bring glory to the Citadel and your Immortan!"

"V8!" Saluted Furiosa, before kneeling to kiss the loathed hand.

"V8"" chorused the Imperators. The crowd below cheered, and Furiosa fought down the urge to throw up.

**14: Armed and Extremely Dangerous _(Day 5137)_**

Furiosa had never needed a left hand. Now she was forced to wear a metal one, it took some getting used to. She and her chosen crew had gone through several prototypes. One trigger-happy War Boy had showed his initiative by welding an assault rifle to one of the basic prostheses they'd built. As much as Furiosa applauded the scope of his vision, she felt she had to point out that, having never used her left hand for anything other than steadying her rifle, her aim with that limb would be less than accurate. In fact, the only safe place to stand, if she were to use that particular design, would be directly behind her, and even then there'd be no guarantee of not incurring some damage. No, she finally decided on a simple double hook design. Once she'd got used to that,  _then_ they could start getting creative.

**15: The Art of Diplomacy _(Day 5207)_**

Joe is expecting a massacre. The Rock Riders have had the temerity to invade his territory beyond the agreed boundary of the canyon, and they have to be wiped out. Furiosa, however, is reluctant to slaughter what is really just nine or ten families trying to survive in the Wasteland. She'd observed them over the years and, unlike the Buzzards, who were frankly repellent, killing and mutilating for the hell of it, the Rock Riders appeared to be driven by necessity.

So Furiosa rides, alone, into their camp in an attempt to negotiate for their withdrawal. Her crew remain in hiding, within shooting distance but under strict orders to hold fire until the signal.

She spells out the options to a wall of figures in elaborately-decked helmets and goggles. She normally doesn't have this kind of discussion unless she can see the faces of her disputants, but she feels it would be too much to ask for them to remove their headgear. Although they're fronting it out, they know as well as she does that they're in the sights of at least ten snipers.

 _You're outnumbered by Citadel War boys, thirty to one,_ she says. _If you withdraw beyond the Canyon, and give me a token of your compliance, you will be left alone._ _If not, you will be annihilated._

One Rock Rider pulls a gun at this unwelcome news and is promptly shot in the shoulder by an exasperated Furiosa. "Can't you arseholes try to recognise when someone's trying _not_ kill you?" she shouts at the growing crowd. "Don't fuck with me and you might live to see your kids grow up. What's your pride compared to that?"

This argument carries considerable weight, and an agreement is tentatively reached, but what token of compliance would be sufficient to appease Joe's ego? They scratch heads and look blank. She lost her patience. "Joe wants your blood! Can someone help me out here? I'm expected to go back to the Citadel with someone's _head_ on a platter."

A heavily-built man at the back hesitatingly raises a hand. "I might be able to help you out with that..." Going to his tent, he returns with a latex head, complete with hair.

"Fucking hell" Furiosa mutters. "That's the most horrible thing I've ever..." Another man interrupts her with a nudge. "That's Big Dave's dad..."

"A circus passed through here about twenty years ago and one guy was practicing sculpture...so dad let him use him as a model. See here, it's signed on the back and everything..." They peered closer and saw a scribble that looked like _'Pepe'_. "Pretty good likeness, too" the man added, proudly.

"I see where you get your good looks." Furiosa nodded.

"But look, what kind of compensation will we be getting?" interrupted the same hotheaded Rock Rider, one gunshot wound not sufficient to keep him quiet.

"No compensation" _the young man bristled at this,_ "but a very favourable trade deal...namely, a small but regular supply of greens and water in exchange for..." She cast her eye round the camp "all the car parts you can salvage." They had plenty of that commodity but, being bikers, they couldn't use them themselves and would have to trade them on anyway. They looked unconvinced. She went on, "And you, Big Dave...you'll have the knowledge that your father will be honoured as a vanquished foe and worthy leader by Immortan Joe."

The Rock Riders looked at each other. Some shrugged, some grinned. "Deal" said their leader.

Furiosa and her crew returned to the Citadel and presented Joe with the leader of the Rock Riders pickled in a jar. He kept it on a shelf.

**16: All Girls Together _(Day 6188)_**

It had all been going so well. She was in charge of the War Rig. Two thousand horsepower of nitro-boosted war machine. This would be her escape. She could outrun and outfight them, and drive, drive, drive. With water, fuel and food. Even if it took her weeks, months to find the Green Place again, she could do it.

But Joe had been taunting her, saying he might call for her any day...And now she's back in the Vault, in charge of guarding his Wives.

When she meets Giddy for the first time in seventeen years, she's greeted with the words "You've grown." She certainly looked different to the frightened twelve-year old she'd been, though she'd only added a couple of inches to her height. Lean, scarred, shaven-headed, eyes that give nothing away. That was who she'd become. The Wives look afraid of her. "What have you told them?" Furiosa asks.

"About you? Nothing. Unless you want me to."

_She didn't._

Giddy knew that expression. Lyra would have killed to have ever had looked so determined, so certain. "You have a plan, don't you? A real plan. You're leaving." _Furiosa says nothing._

"You have to take the girls with you." _Furiosa says nothing._

"Lyra got you out. You can't help _her_. Ever heard of paying it forward?"

Furiosa wants to say _"I don't owe anyone anything"_ , but she bites it back. She knows it's not true. She knows it could've been _her_ blood and brains splattered onto the courtyard by now if she hadn't been given an out. But she still resists. "It'd take too long to plan" she growls, teeth gritted, "You don't understand...I need to go _now_. Joe could call for me any day. It'd all be for nothing."

Giddy looks at her, looks properly. Furiosa's eyes are desperate, her nostrils flared like a trapped animal. She's not just angry...she's fighting down panic. She smiled a little and shook her head. "No offence, girl...I think you're out of the woods now. You're getting on a bit, and the years haven't been kind. I think these pretty young things are more to Joe's taste."

Furiosa blinked in surprise, and she laughed a little. "I think that's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had "Ender's Game" in mind when writing this. Child soldiers in a barrack environment, having to battle for ascendancy between themselves while not losing their humanity. There'll be a direct nod to one of the scenes from this film in a chapter of 'The Shipping Forecast' later on.  
> And the 'Pepe' who sculpted Big Dave's dad's head - he's from the Sacred Art of Stealing, and will probably show up again in some universe or other. He does convincing things with latex.
> 
> "And, most importantly, out of her peer-group, she's the only one who's still alive."  
> Okay, I admit it. This has totally been nabbed from Fifth Element.
> 
> And from The Fifth ELEPHANT (not, sadly, Terry Pratchett’s take on the Fifth Element as I’d originally hoped), Detritus’s weapon of choice inspired ‘Armed and Extremely Dangerous’  
> “He'd tried it once, down at the Butts. Vimes had seen a target vanish. So had the targets on either side, the earth bank behind, and a couple of seagulls who'd been in the wrong place at the wrong time. In this case, the wrong place had been directly above Detritus.”  
> \-- The Fifth Elephant


	9. Up Around the Bend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Furiosa, Miss Giddy and the Wives plan their escape. How Joe found the Citadel but got stitched up in the process. Giddy tells of the early days. Shit actually happens.

Furiosa sits by the door of the Vault, chewing a fingernail abstractedly. The Wives talk amongst themselves. They talk a lot, almost as much as War Boys. She's trying to come up with a plan, but she catches scraps of the conversation that's competing for her interest.

They're talking about their Vault names. Why they were given them. Some remember their birth names, others not, she's not really following the details. But what arrests Furiosa's attention is the mention of Lyra. According to Giddy, she got her name because she could dream up a lie for any occasion, in the blink of an eye. _Didn't help her much in the end though_ , Furiosa thought.

"What was her real name?" Furiosa asks, startling them. She doesn't usually engage with the Wives much, though she sometimes talks quietly with Giddy.

"She never did tell me. Took it to her death. She said she'd write it down for me to find, but I've never found anything."

Furiosa thought of the slip of paper in Lyra's hand. A message to her. It had chilled her to the bone, kept her resolute. A warning. Just four words, no clue as to a name...

"She could talk for hours, but never about herself. She told me nothing, really. Just that her parents were dead and she'd been brought from her home. Always so angry...and most of all, angry at herself. Never talked about her past, or the children she'd had for Joe. I think it was the anger that kept her alive. Until, one day, she came to me, told me she'd finally got a plan. She always had a plan, but she said she'd see this one through. Asked me to help her out onto the ledge first. She said she wanted to see the stars. Then she jumped. I still miss her."

*

Furiosa sits on her accustomed ledge by the door, thinking. All very well to decide to take them with her, but _how?_   How to get them out of this fucking room for starters? She scanned the Vault absently. The girls had got used to her presence now and had drifted back to their usual pursuits, such as they were. Capable was practicing scales on the piano. Angharad reading in the corner. Toast was staring moodily into the middle distance, idly fiddling with a pincushion. Her hated embroidery lay disregarded on the couch. Cheedo and Dag were mixing up some mess of old rags and glue, some mysterious new way of idling away their captivity. She watched them absently, while she mused over the eternal problem. She was the only one who could come up with a plan. Giddy had wisdom and years, but she hadn't been outside the Vault in a quarter of a century, and the girls had only the sketchiest knowledge of the Citadel. It was up to her. She watched as Dag stretched out her arm and Cheedo plastered the mess over it, working it carefully into the angles of her bony hand and wrist.

"Just don't move til it dries, ok?"

"How long's this going to take, though? I'd better not get pins and needles."

"About an hour, hour and a half tops. It's all for art, remember?" Cheedo reminded her, as Dag groaned.

Images were starting to dance in Furiosa's brain. She didn't chase after them as they spun and whirled. It was an idea-embryo that would grow in its own good time.

Around the time Dag was being carefully cut free from her hardened gauntlet, Furiosa was fidgeting and tapping her fingernails against her teeth. She got up excitedly and took a quick survey of the room, into the annex, the position of the furniture, the ledge where Toast was sitting, then turned and regarded the circular door of the Vault critically.

Angharad and Giddy had been exchanging curious looks for some time. Even Cheedo was becoming distracted from her artistic endeavours by this unwonted restlessness. "What's going on?" she asked, innocently.

Furiosa looked round at them, green eyes sparkling in a way they'd never seen before. "I think I've got a idea...how's Dag's arm looking, Cheedo?"

They all look bewildered, intrigued, skeptical. Apart from Giddy who had stared at Furiosa, muttered _My God, that's it,_ and sat down again.

*

When Furiosa had finished describing the plan as she saw it, she turned to Giddy and asked, "Was that what you were thinking of too?"

"What do you mean?"

"You said 'that's it', like you'd had an idea of what I was going to suggest."

"Yes...no - that wasn't..." Giddy took a deep breath. "I just realised why I thought you looked so familiar the first time I saw you. You reminded me of someone I met once, long time ago."

*

"I came here with Joe. I was a prisoner, or just a hanger-on, I'm still not sure which...sometimes it's a fine line. I wanted to survive, and his convoy were survivors. Plain old Colonel Joe Moore he was, back then. We were looking for water, a stronghold to fortify. There were tales of an aquifer, deep underground, not far off. But nobody knew where. We met a party of travellers. They were a smart bunch, could steal the nose off your face if they felt inclined. And they liked to have a good time. Music, dancing, magic tricks..."

_Furiosa felt a chill...Nonono, don't give me another reason to hate him...._

"This one old man...he was a master. His son was young, but was just as clever with his hands. Card tricks mainly but, hell, they could do anything. Joe was greatly taken with them. That Zal...he was a tough one. Just a kid, but he was steel, deep down. Got the better of Joe in the end, that's for sure." She looked up at Furiosa. "Who was he...your father?"

Furiosa nodded. There were no tears, just a look of burning resentment for what Joe had done to her family before she was even thought of.

"They'd been kept prisoner for weeks after Joe had got what he wanted out of them. I don't know how they got free in the end, but I caught them on their way out of the camp. They could have killed me, I wasn't armed. He just looked at me and said,  _"Don't drink the_ _water_ " and they were gone. I suppose you know what happened. But maybe you don't know the full story?"

Furiosa shook her head. "Just that they had to steal a treasure for him. And he killed their family. _My family_. And they got their revenge, some at least."

"They did that. But you don't know what the treasure was?" Giddy chuckled a little sadly. "It was the Citadel itself. Its water, at least. Joe didn't know where it could be found, but he knew some people who might. Unfortunately for him, they weren't friends of his, and they were much, much bigger than him. Knowledge might be power, but it's no good if you don't even know you have it, and these guys weren't even aware what valuable information they were sitting on."

*

"I don't think Joe actually expected them to succeed. I think it was just his twisted way of having them killed, giving them an impossible task. It was an old military compound, and he knew it was still heavily guarded. And they were just kids really, barely into their twenties. Imagine his surprise when they came back with the documents, not a scratch on them. That was a mistake, but what choice did they have? He had their families at gunpoint. But he wasn't going to let them go after that – they'd them proven themselves even more useful to him than he'd expected."

"The irony was, we were already practically on top of the aquifer. The documents your dad gave Joe were _wrong_. He sent us on a wild goose chase. We spent weeks going in the wrong direction, months and months of digging. All for nothing. He must've altered them..." she said, with a smile and a shrug. "Joe was pretty pissed off, anyway." 

"Not much fun for you, though." Furiosa sympathised.

"Me? ...I'm reconciled to being a passenger on other people's journeys."

*

"But he was called the _General_ when my dad met him...?"

"You don't think Joe capable of a little self-aggrandisement?" Giddy gave her a look. "He promoted himself. Always a bit grandiose when it came to titles. Hah, he called himself _Aeneas_ for a while, during his classical phase. That was just after we found the aquifer. Thought he was destined to found an empire. Called his first Citadel wife 'Lavinia'"

"Who was she?"

"Just a poor skinny kid we met along the road. Selling herself for food and water. She already had a baby boy, so Joe thought she'd be a safe bet."

"What happened to the baby?" Furiosa wasn't sure she wanted to know.

"Once he was weaned, he never saw his mother again. Joe trained him up as his first War Boy."

"And the mother?"

"Had a couple of sickly babies for Joe. None survived long. He was so angry that she couldn't ( _wouldn't_ , he said) give him a healthy son, he threw her from the rock face. There were a few more Lavinias after her, until he got bored with that game. After that, he was Immortan Joe. Came up with this V8 business, Valhalla and the rest."

*

Back to the Plan...it would be a matter of pandering to Joe's vanity. That wouldn't be difficult. He desperately wanted to believe his Wives loved and admired him. And Cheedo was going through an artistic phase. Joe wanted his Wives to be 'accomplished', so he was quite happy with this. His definition of female accomplishment was rather archaic, to say the least. They would sing for him, and play the piano. Hours and hours of embroidery, delicate and of no use at all.

So there would be a statue. In honour of the Immortan. He would be a heroic-looking figure, holding the sun in his hands. The Wives - just generic women...they knew their individuality was nothing to him, they were just the newest in a long line - they would look adoringly up at him, offering up male babies. The base of the statue would be a circle of War Boys, some straining proudly against the weight of their burden, others saluting their god with a V8 gesture. Or whatever. In truth, it didn't matter a damn what it looked like. It just had to look heavy, and be _hollow._

*

They'd drawn out a sketch of what the statue would be. Giddy had suggested a working name for it. _'White Western Male'_. They would make it out of rags and glue, supported by wire mesh and with a base made of a single old tyre from the Gigahorse. It was to be Cheedo's project, with Dag as assistant. Though Dag had her own ideas about how the statue should look, and occasionally rebelled. It often took their combined efforts to talk her down.

"Dag, it'll kind of spoil the plan if we make it like that."

"Oh come on, wouldn't it be really satisfying?"

"Look, when we get to the Green Place, _then_ you can make an effigy of Joe getting fucked up the arse with a pineapple. Until then, we should _focus_."

*

The plan was Furiosa's and her mechanical skills would be vital in making it work, particularly the elements of misdirection and trickery. If any suspicious person took it into their head to check the Vault after they'd gone, they'd hear a piano playing softly in the annex. At least two beds would be occupied with sleeping, breathing figures.

The wives planned to cut long strands of hair from their heads, just a few hairs at a time, and gather them up, hoarding them carefully. Nearer the time, they would be plaited and arranged, fixed to the 'head' of their respective effigy. They hadn't figured out the final plan yet, but it would be useful one way or another. They could be flexible then, at least. With the excitement of the first rebellious tiny snip, Cheedo thought of something. "But what about Furiosa? How'll we make hers look like her?" gesturing at her close-cropped head.

"I'm the guard, remember? I don't need one." she replied. Then added, with the faintest hint of a smile, "But thank you for forgetting it".

*

Fine, but how to ensure that none of them would be summoned by Joe on the night _before_ their departure. How to make themselves undesirable without the risk of raising a suspicion? Angharad was off-duty since Giddy had managed to convince Joe that sex at that stage of pregnancy is bad for the unborn baby. But what about the rest of them? Could they all be having a bleed at the same time? It was highly unlikely, after all. They would need a plan. Could they fake it? So they experimented with wax capsules containing blood and red clay. Not a pleasant experience, and they had to be careful not to rouse the suspicions of the Organic in the case of the random checkups he was so fond of performing. It wasn't quite the right consistency and didn't smell the same, but it would deceive another person, if they replaced them regularly and faked cramps. What about sickness? Could they fake vomiting or flu? Giddy checked her books and found a recipe for an emetic, and another to raise a mild fever. She tested them on herself.

They settled on a day. Their plans and mechanisms were ready. The statue itself was of lesser importance. With a blank face, Furiosa passed the message from Giddy that the Wives wanted to offer their Immortan a gift. It would be ready in forty days. He would come and inspect it privately in the Vault, before it was moved onto the lift platform for a public presentation.

Giddy checked her records for their bleeding schedule. There was a chance for Capable, but the other three would be mid-cycle at that time. So it would have to be a fake bleed or sickness for them.

As time drew on, Dag missed a bleed. It was too soon for the Organic to notice, but she knew there would be another Warlord Junior. Toast urged her to take the drugs Giddy had prepared. Maybe they would take it away before it was noticed. Dag just shook her head. _They were leaving, and it might be a girl_. However, in the last few weeks Dag, who'd always sneezed in dusty rooms, found that her nose was streaming, eyes were red and she, frankly, looked pretty rough. Giddy said it was probably her hormones changing and making her even more sensitive to things. This could work in their favour. To make certain, Furiosa brought her the pelt of a cat she'd acquired from a trader. Dag would keep it under her pillow while she slept, and give it a good hard sniff whenever she remembered. _Gods, she hated cats..._

The sick ones would have effigies wrapped up in bed, hooked up to a pump mechanism that Furiosa was working on. She could only get hold of crappy rubber pipes which were cracked with age, but that gave the mechanism a realistically wheezy sound, which was an unexpected boon.

*

There was an intoxicating sense of hope in the Vault. Giddy sang softly to herself while the girls worked at their tasks. It sounded like a cheerful song, not like the usual kind she'd taught them before. Toast found herself tapping her knee with her pencil in time to the chorus, even though the voice was faint and not a little cracked.

_...fix your mind on a crystal day_

"What's the song, Giddy?"

Giddy laughed a little. She looked years younger. "Here, take a look at this..." She held out her left forearm and pointed to some tiny lettering. Four verses of four lines each, followed by two lines at the end. _Looks like poetry_ , Toast thought.

"And here's the music..." Giddy showed her other forearm. Tiny lines, dots – yes, it was musical notation. "That's amazing, so tiny...how do you read it?"

Capable copied it out on a scrap of cloth and practiced it whenever she got a chance.

*

_Catch a ride to the end of the highway...And we'll meet by the big red tree_

Furiosa reads the tiny print on Giddy's arm. Her eyes widen, she smiles a far-off smile, at a memory she thought had long faded away. "Sounds like home. There was a great spreading tree that turned red before the leaves fell. Right in the centre of the settlement."

Dag looked up to the ceiling, folded her thin hands together and whispered. "It's a prophecy..."

*

They'd had to be patient. The plan had been a long time in the brewing. And of course, as they were apt to do, last minute developments meant Giddy had to stay behind in the Vault after the statue was carried out by Furiosa's crew. "I'll join you if I can, but don't wait for me" she'd said. She would at least have the satisfaction of seeing Joe's bafflement at the sight of an empty Vault.

"How is it you're always getting other people out, but never yourself?" Furiosa asked.

"That's worth something, in itself" Giddy replied, with a smile. Furiosa kissed her wrinkled cheek.

*

"How long did she say we'd have to wait?" Toast asked, for the twentieth time that night.

"Til first light. She'd come for us before the Rig Crew were ready to load up."

" _Shiiiit._ I need to  _go_."

"Just hold it, Toast. Seriously. It won't be long now." Angharad had no idea how long it would be, but she really didn't want the smell of piss adding to the discomfort of being enclosed in a _tiny space_. She hadn't wanted to mention it, but she really wasn't comfortable in tight spaces.  _Just breathe_ , she told herself.  _Oh holy fuck, what was that smell?_

"I couldn't help it. I had to go." Toast whined, breaking the reproachful silence.

"Oh fucking hell. That is properly disgusting." admonished Capable.

"You know what? I'm not sorry! It's my parting gift to Joe." Toast declared, proudly.

"Suppose there's no point holding it in anymore." Cheedo sighed. There was a faint tinkling sound, and a smell of ammonia. Which was nothing compared to the odour already wafting round the interior of the 'White Western Male'.

"Yeah, me too. We can't be expected to wait this long, anyway. And I doubt we'll have time to stop along the way." agreed Dag.

"You're right. Here's to Joe." Angharad took a deep breath and made a slight straining sound. "Hope it's not long till daylight..."

*

The night before the departure, she'd enlisted her crew to drag the sculpture from the Vault to the lift area. It would sit there until the morning, when it would be presented to Joe as the War Rig prepared to depart. Her guilt was choking her. She knew how she was deceiving them and she felt sick with it. Maybe it wasn't too late...

The crew were in high spirits. They were about to go on their first proper run to Gastown, and the novelty of the statue made for an air of festivity.

So she took them to the barracks, to a room all of their own. Time for a celebration, she said. As they got more and more tipsy, the cheers of 'Immortan!' And 'Rig Crew, shiny and chrome!' Furiosa blinked back tears of grief and resignation. But it was impossible to convey what she had planned without _knowing_ they'd follow her. She'd dropped hints. Like Valhalla was not a certainty, like might be alternatives for them all, different lives were out there for them all. How they were all valuable, to her, to themselves. How they were not things.

"No...we're not things. We're Furiosa's War Crew!" She hoped, but...it was followed with a round cheer of "Valhalla!"

"We are War Boys! Kamakrazee War Boys! Fukashima kamakrazee War Boys! Heading to Gas Town! Hauling Aqua Cola! Produce! Mother's Milk! Joe! Joe! Joe! Immortan Joe! Rev it up for the Immortan Joe!"

No, she'd stick with the plan. Come what may.

*

There was much relief when Furiosa came to retrieve her charges from their now-reeking hiding place. 

"Fucking hell, what have you lot been _doing?_ " she tried not to gag.

"It's his statue. Only fitting it's full of shit." Angharad snapped back, squeezing herself carefully out of the hidden hatch. 

*

To distract themselves from the close atmosphere and choking smell of guzzoline, the Sisters whisper the lines of their song over and over.

_There's a place up ahead and I'm going..._

Explosions...what was happening out there? The cries and shouts from the surface were reaching a pitch. They'd heard one gruff voice challenge Furiosa angrily. But they'd kept moving. The girls repeated the words like a mantra, like a prayer.

_...just as fast as my feet can fly._

Suddenly they hear Furiosa's voice cry out, somewhere between terror and exultation. "SANDSTORM!"

"I told you it was a prophecy!" Dag hisses.

_Come on the rising wind, we're coming up around the bend._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why did you THINK they were so keen to get cleaned up after they'd shaken off the War Party?  
> *  
> This is Creedence Clearwater Revival song is probably one of my all-time favourites. I must have the musical taste of a concussed two-year old, because anything with lots of clapping makes me go 'yay'. Much to my annoyance, there is no functioning YouTube video.  
> *  
> There's a place up ahead and I'm going  
> Just as fast as my feet can fly  
> Come away, come away if you're going  
> Leave this sinking ship behind  
> ...Come on the rising wind, we're going up around the bend  
> *  
> Bring a song and smile for the banjo  
> Better get while the getting's good  
> Hitch a ride to the end of the highway  
> Where the neons turn to wood  
> ...Come on the rising wind, we're going up around the bend  
> *  
> You can ponder perpetual motion  
> Fix your mind on a crystal day  
> Always time for good conversation  
> There's an ear for what you say  
> ...Come on the rising wind, we're going up around the bend  
> *  
> Catch a ride to the end of the highway  
> And we'll meet by the big red tree  
> There's a place up ahead and I'm going  
> Come along, come along with me  
> ...Come on the rising wind, we're going up around the bend


	10. Teardrop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Do unborn babies dream?
> 
> Near death, Furiosa goes back to her happy place.
> 
> Courtesy of Massive Attack:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u7K72X4eo_s

It didn't hurt anymore, that's how she knew she was back again. She could feel the warmth suffusing through her, chasing away the cold and the fear and the feeling of drowning. It wasn't real, only the dream fading. _Is that what it would be like out there?_

She'd fought for breath...her lungs should be working if she was outside the womb, but they weren't and she was already dying. _Should have stayed where she was...it hurts out here._ With a stab of pain she broke the surface. The relief of air lasted only a few seconds... _it's so cold..._ She missed the womb. She wanted to go _home_. Too late now...

It had scared her a little, the dream, but now all that mattered was the feeling of home, of comfort...being enclosed by love and trust. As she drifted off to sleep, she could hear a word repeated over and over... _what was it?_


	11. Heavy Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Max retraces his steps. He has unfinished business.

_Hear her calling, come to me_

_Thoughts of her won’t let me be_

_Go to the valley, climb the hill_

_Whatever it takes darling, you know I will_

 

He sees her stand upright and triumphant on the lift. She sees him, smiles slightly and nods acknowledgement. _Of what?_ he wonders. _Gratitude? Dismissal?_ He returns the nod, a last look and edges into the jubilant crowd. There was no question of whether to leave or stay. He had done what he’d set out to do, helped them get home. And he was free again. Nothing would induce him to go back into that place. This was as close as he would ever come to it again. So why did he keep feeling the urge to slow his steps, turn, look back? He shook his head sharply to clear a warning buzzing that usually heralded accusing voices. But his ghosts were silent for now.

*

He’s got all he needs, after a few hours’ silent work under the cover of darkness. He’s always had a knack for finding supplies, though it takes longer when he’s unwilling to kill for them. It’s been easy though – the Citadel has been decimated and those who remain are either in a state of celebration at Joe’s demise, or simply taking in the change of leadership. Either way, Security isn’t a problem. Bike, guzz, water, food, tools, weapons. Leave. But where? He wants his car. It’s part of him, and he needs to fix it if he can, or mourn its passing if he can’t. He fires up the engine and heads east.

He evades the Buzzards. They know him of old and steer clear after the first warning shot. The sun climbs the sky as the first signs of wreckage appear, both human and mechanical. One white-painted figure lies in the sand with his head at an awkward angle. He’s been dead for days. Another, face and neck impaled with sharp barbs, is embedded in the wreckage of a spiked vehicle, a charred ruin. He buries the bodies, takes what salvage he can.

*

Further on, sand has thickly covered any signs of destruction. He sees nothing to slow his pace. He keeps his mind on the route ahead. He doesn’t think. The sun drops behind, casting a long shadow eastwards. The landscape unfolds in front of him. Foothills come into view. It would be dark by the time he reached the canyon. _Good._ He worked best in darkness, especially when hostiles were around.

*

It’s been a busy night. Silently scouting the rocky devastation, he sees the overturned shell of the War Rig. Nux’s steering wheel is easy to distinguish by feel among the wreckage scattered around. When it’s light enough, he’ll check the interior for a body. He hopes the kid survived, but _hope is a mistake_ , he reminds himself. If Nux was alive, he wouldn’t have left his wheel lying around for scavs like him to pick up.

He hears voices beyond the wreckage.

*

He’s surprised, overall.

He’d stalked an unwary War Boy into the shadows and held a knife to his throat, told him that _Furiosa was in charge and Joe was dead,_   _u_ _nderstand?_ The Boy had nearly cut his own throat, with his vehement nod. Not the wisest response. But the last few days hadn't dulled his reactions; he’d pulled the knife away an inch just in time. He wondered if this one had been part of Furiosa’s crew. But they’d all been scattered by the sandstorm. It was a miracle _he’d_ survived that, and Max was good at surviving.

Maybe the new leadership would be received more favourably than he’d expected...

And he’d let him go, to spread the word. The Boy knew better than to say how he’d really learned the news. Said he’d seen a flare go up.

He heard a range of reactions, throughout the night. These people were lost and leaderless. Many were phlegmatic about Furiosa’s takeover. She’d be the new Immortan. Even Joe could be killed, that wasn’t impossible. Finally, he’d made it to Valhalla, mcfeasting with the War Boys who’d gone before. They’d tramp home and offer their services to Immortan Furiosa.

There were some hostiles, true. Angry. Loudly denouncing Furiosa for traitoring the Immortan. He quietly dispatches them in the darkness.

*

He’d watched them trudge towards the Citadel, all those who would follow her. He’d listened to them all speak, and was confident that they meant what they said. He’d left them a canister of water by the foot of the rubble and saw them find it. They never knew he’d been watching, listening, killing when needed.

He’d explored the War Rig. Found what he’d been looking for. Buried the kid.

He moves on eastwards.

*

It takes three days to gather up what remains of the Interceptor. He can at least try to piece her together again. And after that, think about trying to get her moving. He’s picked up tools on the way. Not great, but he can improvise. He strips the bike of parts when he gets desperate.

Just over a month later, she’s operational again. Held together with spit, blood and blind faith, but she’s running. He’s so grateful he finally buries the barbecued War Boy with staples in his face. He drives onwards. To the east.

 

 

_Hear her calling, hurry home_

_Been so long since I been gone_

_I won’t get tired, won’t go astray_

_Hear her calling, call my name_

 

He begins to think, now he’s behind a wheel again. Not _his_ wheel, he never did find that. He had to strip one from a vehicle marginally less wrecked than his own.

He starts to wonder where he’s going. It’s not something he often considers. _‘Away’_ is generally enough. The direction doesn’t matter.

He has one last job to do. He carries on eastwards until he finds them. He builds a cairn of rocks and collects their baggage. The bike too. It’s crushed, but still…

*

He wonders -  _fears -_ what new companions he’ll pick up along this Road. In the middle distance, he sees a group of women, dusty and windswept. Not accusing, not raging, just...looking curiously at him. _Maybe not ghosts, then?_ But he shook his head. No. He'd seen them die. And he'd laid what still remained of them in the ground. On a sudden impulse, he reaches out, closes his fist and returns it to his chest.

They smile, nod and move on towards the Citadel.

*

He stops moving. He sits in his car, facing east. Doesn’t know how many times the sun has set and risen. He’s feels like a rogue planet trapped in the orbit of a bright star. Or maybe a black hole, he’s not sure. He feels cold, at the outer edge of his eccentric orbit. He wonders how badly he’ll burn up when he gets too close.

He thinks of her. Eyes that can see right through him. With her, silence is no barrier. He can’t hide no matter how he tries. 

*

He sleeps. “Fool, where are you going?” He awakes with a start. It’s not a dream, he’s awake and he can see her. The pregnant wife, looking at him reproachfully. He shudders, eyes wide, hands twitching. Is _she_ here to accuse him?

She kneels down awkwardly towards him, wincing as if in pain. He shuffles backwards in the dust. Her leg is still bleeding from his bullet. He’s frozen in terrified anticipation.

“Don’t be scared.” She smiles. His ghosts don’t smile like that, as a rule.

 _What was her name?_ The audio replay of his brain provides a chorus of sorrowful young voices… _Angharad, Angharad, Angharad, Angharad_. She had another name too, but he could only hear it spoken in Joe’s arrogant voice. _Angharad, then._

“I’m sorry” he groaned.

‘What for?”

He points at her leg. “Got you killed.”

She shrugs. “Not your fault. Should have held on tighter.”

“I’d rather be dead than caught by Joe, anyway.” She smiled sadly. “Besides, I slowed them down, didn’t I? Gave you all a bit of distance. Might not have got away otherwise.” She looks past him.

He turns to see what she’s looking at. Sees nothing behind him. He looks back towards her. She’s gone. He looks around. She’s walking away, towards the Citadel.

*

There’s one more. Ghosts come in threes, after all. Back towards the West, he sees a tall figure waving at him cheerily. His paint has worn off. He lopes off, towards the Citadel.

 

 

_Just my colour, just my kind_

_Got a heavy soul, next to mine_

_Heart’s on fire, get no sleep_

_Drive all night, no relief_

 

He sighs, starts the engine and takes a dusty u-turn. He knows he’s going back…just to drop off the salvage…the stuff they’d value, anyway. And to report. But not to stay…no, no way.

*

He runs out of guzz in Buzzard territory. Typical. He hides the Interceptor as best he can and takes cover in the dunes. He’s within scope range of the Citadel, its three towers on the horizon at the other end of a strip of asphalt.

He takes the opportunity to rest before attempting to signal, blanket shading him from the sun. When he wakes, it’s cooler. He scans the road.

There’s a lone bike approaching. He looks around for hostiles. No sign of Buzzards. A figure pulls up by the side of the road and drinks from a canteen. He knows who it is.

He signals with a piece of salvaged metal. F U R I

Pause. Reply. F O O L

Long pause. M A X

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heavy Soul (The Black Keys)
> 
> https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=shM3Nm-wRrs
> 
> I couldn't listen to this song after watching Fury Road without thinking of what might happen immediately after he disappeared into the crowd. It's now inextricably linked with this movie in my head. And I'm seriously shippy on Max/Furiosa. But only after the pneumothorax/blood transfusion scene. That was electric.


	12. Mr Sandman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Furiosa regrets giving free rein to her imagination. Max chooses to live dangerously.

She’s surprised, glad. It feels like a dream to meet him alone out here, with no chaos or fighting going on around them. It seems too quiet, too calm, to be real. They’re in Buzzard territory, but she’s armed and ready. Why is he here on foot? He seems healthy enough, doesn’t look dehydrated or sunstruck.  

He nods enquiringly at her. It’s been over a month since they parted on the lift, and he looks relieved to see her looking well enough. “How’s the…?” he puts his hand to his left side by way of explanation.  

“Good, good” she replies, absently. He raises his eyebrows, disbelieving. “Well, I got a bit of fever…but I’m back on my feet and…”  

“Roaming out here alone…?” he suggests, reproachfully.  

 She smiled wryly. “Not dead yet…thanks to you. The girls told me what you did – Max…?”  

“Owed you – for the escape. And for not letting go…” He looked her straight in the eye for the first time since the salt flats. 

 *

They sit on the blistered bonnet of the Interceptor, separated by the bulk of the supercharger. They don’t talk that much, but it doesn’t feel long before the sun has dropped below the horizon. Neither of them really wants to go back, not really.   

Furiosa is increasingly restless under the new Citadel regime. She still has plenty of battles to fight, but the load is shared. She feels that, soon, she won’t be needed at all. An anachronism, a relic of Joe’s old Citadel. She knows she’s helped to make it what it is now, but it’s hard to shake off the thousands of days when she’d been a cog in the wheel of the old system. Maybe she’s just tired. Or maybe it’s the roaming blood from her father’s side of the family, long-denied.  

She knows Max is in no great hurry to be within the Citadel’s walls again. How could he be? Tortured, humiliated, robbed. She remembers the first time they locked eyes. A hood ornament on the front of a pursuit vehicle, being bled to death. Insult and injury. She wasn’t innocent of that – not her, Imperator Furiosa, Joe’s trusty War Rig driver. But yet, he’s here, unasked. Sitting beside her in the twilight. If they could only just stay there…  

But he sees her shivering in the desert chill and wraps her up in a salvaged blanket. “We should get moving…” 

“Not yet…” she shakes her head.  

“You’ll get sick” he persists. But he sees she’s immovable. Shivering still, but eyes fixed on the stars coming out in the evening sky.   

“My mother is up there” she whispers with a smile.  

“Which one is she?” Max asks.   

“All of them.”  

 *

When darkness falls, they bundle up in the back of the ramshackle Interceptor. Max gathers up as many blankets as he can find. But there’s one bundle lying by in the shadows that he passes over. It looks familiar. He looks at her regretfully.  

“Didn’t want to tell you 'til the morning. They didn’t make it.”  

She nods. It would be crazy to think Val and Maddie had survived the People Eater’s limousine. She grips his hand tightly. “Open it up. They would want them to be used.”  

So he does.  

 *

They’re quite warm under the blankets. Close to feel each other’s body heat, but not quite touching. She thinks he’s asleep, his breathing is slow and deep, but it’s hard to be sure.  

Sleep is most definitely eluding Furiosa. She’s certainly warm enough. Embarrassment will do that. She remembers how she had thought of him, only last night.    

It didn’t seem wrong, despite what her mother had urged her back in the Green Place. She didn’t expect to ever see him again, truth be told. She thought he’d be long gone, without a backward glance.   

Besides, she told herself she was hardly using him if it was only in her head. It helped her to sleep. It always had done, since she had been granted the privacy of an Imperator’s room. Difference was, Max was the only man she’d ever met who…who she liked to think of in that way. And that was a big difference. Since she’d been out of the infirmary, she’d welcome sleep thinking of his lips, his hands, how he would touch her, _where_ he would touch her. And here he was, lying next to her, his chest rising and falling. It was…unexpected.   

He turned toward her in his sleep, snuggling close, his breath warm on her ear. She lay there, heart racing, as wide awake as she’d ever been in her life. But sleep took pity on her after a while.  

*

Max turned his head to see her sleep, next to him. There were dried tears on her cheek from earlier, when she’d breathed deep into Valkyrie’s blanket, but she looked relaxed, comfortable. He’d never seen her like that. Always there’d been struggle, pain, ferocity. He wanted to help her, comfort her when she needed it. If she ever needed him.  

She made him feel safe, she was an anchor to keep him grounded, kept him calm. And then he realised. It was like an icy stab to the heart. He knew why he had come back, and he was afraid. Why hadn’t his ghosts warned him? If he’d realised how entangled he was, he’d have run and run. But he was glad, for all that he was sick with fear. _Because he would have run._  But he didn’t think he’d be able to, not now.   

_But it might be different this time._

It was already different. _She_ hadn’t died on the road. This woman had hunted down her monster and killed _him_. And she hadn’t needed him, not really. She had already accomplished her revenge before he’d saved her. Survival was just a bonus.  

 _It had to be different this time._  

*

Max and Furiosa drive up to the ramp in the shell of the Interceptor, the bike strapped to the roof. The girls were waiting, had probably been watching anxiously for Furiosa’s return.  

He unpacks the car, while Furiosa is surrounded by the girls.  

“Are you ok? How are your ribs? How did you bring him back?”  

She shrugs impatiently. “I’m fine. He went to find his car. Found some other stuff.”  

All heads turn to Max. “You went back to the canyon?” Toast demands.  

 Capable doesn’t ask. She’s like a statue. Furiosa nods at Max. He takes out a steering wheel from his bag, and a pair of charred boots. With averted eyes, he holds them out carefully towards Capable. Then he looks her straight in the eye for a few seconds. “M’sorry” he mutters.  

 She gives a jerky nod. Her face is unreadable, but she speaks clearly, no tremor in her voice. “Thank you.” She turns and walks away, head up, back straight, clutching the salvage to her chest. Dag moves to go after her, but Capable waves a hand dismissively and she re-enters the Citadel alone.  

 Furiosa looks to Max with a nod of thanks. She hesitates for a moment, then follows Capable at a distance.

*

“Why’d he come back?”  

“He’s obviously after some.”  

“Some what?” Cheedo asks. Dag nods significantly at the two departing women.  

“Capable…?” she asks, bewildered.  

“Tsst…no. _Furiosa_.”  

“He’ll lose his schlanger then. Furi’s killed every man who’s ever touched her.” Toast added, knowingly.  

“I doubt _that_ …” Cheedo mused, remembering scraps of Furiosa’s fevered mutterings. They could be easily dismissed, but there had been other signs and, besides, Cheedo was a born romantic. She had her suspicions that Furiosa wouldn’t mind _at all_ if Max touched her. 

“Okay, well - maybe _some_ of them survived.” Toast rolled her eyes and stalked off.

“No, I mean…” she turned and whispered something to Dag.  

 *

The brief conversation had made quite an impression on Max. The girls had never been too worried about keeping their thoughts to themselves on the War Rig. So they probably didn’t care that Max had heard every word. Either that or they meant it as a warning.  

It had fitted with his impression of her as an untouchable warrior – a kind of…Diana the huntress – above any carnal human desires. Or maybe she preferred women, which was at least as likely. It had crossed his mind fleetingly that she’d maybe been a Wife like the others. She wore a scrap of the white gauze the girls had been scantily clad in. And, from the sound of him, this Joe didn’t sound like to sort to pass up the opportunity to keep a woman in subjection if he could. For all that he couldn’t imagine Furiosa as a captive, she had had a trapped, hunted expression. Not unlike his own, but with a burning purpose in the place of despair.  

And she had single-mindedly climbed across moving vehicles to rip Joe’s face off, all the while slowly suffocating to death. She had definitely had a score to settle.  

 _She’s killed every man who ever touched her._   

He couldn’t help but think that it would be worth it.  

*

Max was uncomfortable sleeping in the Citadel. No further than the Repair Bay anyway, where the smells of guzz and acetylene were comforting. He sat in the driver’s seat of the reclaimed Interceptor, gnawing on the food Furiosa had brought him. He’d been sorry at her parting ‘Goodnight’, but he knew he was calmer alone right then. He settled down in the seat and tried to get comfortable. She had given stern orders that the Repair Boys shouldn’t disturb him 'til morning, so there was no danger of being startled during the night. He was both relieved and charmed to see how they held her in awe and hung on every word. Although, if he was thinking clearly, he wouldn’t have expected any different. His ghosts were silent for now, had been ever since their reunion on the road. But still he couldn’t seem to get off to sleep.  

He’d shifted about so much he finally got out of the car and perched on the bonnet for a change of position. The moon was strangely bright, giving the Repair Bay an ethereal blue glow. The only exception was a halo of gold by the door where Furiosa was standing uncertainly, holding a lantern.

When she saw he’d seen her, she faltered out, “I was just doing a last check round.”   

“To see I hadn’t run off?” he asked, smiling at her embarrassment. She clearly saw him as some kind of stray cat she didn’t want to scare away with too much attention.  

“I couldn’t sleep…looks like you’re having the same trouble.” She hesitated, then crossed the floor to stand nearer to him, putting the light on a bench.   

She looked over at the moonlight flooding in. Max looked up at her – face and neck half lit by a faint golden glow, the rest in blue-tinted shadow. Her now-familiar scent enveloped him, and must have intoxicated him because…  

“Furiosa…?” She looked down at him, pupils wide in the partial darkness. _“Don’t kill me…”_

Keeping his eyes on her, he spread his left palm on her thigh. She made a quick intake of breath and her arm twitched. Max shut his eyes tightly, waiting for the blow. It would be worth it. She wasn’t wearing her new prosthetic, and he thought of how they had first fought. It would almost be worth it. But he only felt her fingers bury themselves in the rough thatch of his hair. He opened his eyes again. Hers were half closed, her lips parted. _“Not you”_ she whispered hoarsely. His hand cautiously stroked her thigh, savouring her warmth. Her hand was gently kneading through his hair as he raised his right hand and pulled the shirt where it was tucked into the waistband of her trousers. Sliding it up just enough to brush his lips over the contours of her stomach, pausing at her ribs to breathe hesitatingly on the scar his knife had made. Her hand was caressing the back of his neck now, pulling him closer.   

Sighing, he moved his right hand down again to the curve of her hip. Without being held, her shirt slipped down again between his lips and her skin. Having run out of hands, he groaned silently and looked up at her again. She was breathing heavily with her half-lidded eyes. Her fingers ghosted over his face and lips, which parted in a vain attempt to catch them. Made reckless by her sudden small smile, Max shifted his hand, running it up her thigh 'til he found the warmth between her legs. _This is it,_ he thought. _She’ll surely kill me for that._ But the involuntary movement of her hips and the musky scent in his nostrils said otherwise. 

At the sharp bang of a door and clatter of approaching feet, Max woke with a gasp and a raging hard-on. The sun was casting a pink glow over the horizon and the day had begun. Regaining his breath, he rubbed hard at his face. But he’d had worse dreams.

*

When he saw her next at breakfast, he blushed uncomfortably at the memory. But he hoped it would pass unremarked in the warm refectory. In fact, _her_ face was unusually flushed too. He fleetingly wondered if she’d had the same dream, or something like it...

But Furiosa’s thoughts of Max had been waking ones. She’d sworn to herself that she wouldn’t think of him in that way if he ever came back. It would make things too complicated. She’d thought that, after so many thousands of days of abstinence, it wouldn’t be difficult. But she hadn’t reckoned on the effect of his presence. Sight, sound and smell were allied against her. She held out heroically but, after what felt like hours of tossing and turning, she muttered _‘Fuck it…’_   

Ten minutes later, she was fast asleep, face flushed and a small smile on her lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out this video for Mr Sandman. Worst lip-sync ever, but then it was 1958  
> https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=VNUgsbKisp8


	13. Moving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Road is calling. Who will answer first?

_Moving, just keep moving_

_'Til I don't know what's sane_

_I've been moving so long_

_Days all feel the same_

_Moving, just keep moving_

_Well, I don't know why to stay_

_No ties to bind me_

_No reasons to remain_

 

Previously...

Furiosa had always been aware, at least since her capture, that it didn't pay to over-think things. She knew that survival and introspection didn't go hand in hand. 

Which is why it was difficult to adapt after their return to the Citadel. Years of hiding and paranoia, planning and tension. Three days of frantic chase across the Wasteland and back. Now just...relative safety. It wasn't all peachy, by anybody's standards. There were still threats, both internal and external, still shortages, still a need to keep busy. But it was comparatively peaceful.

Now she had time to think. Time to mull over everything she'd done over the years, everything that had been done to her, everything she'd lost. And she _really, really didn't want to_. She was afraid she'd never stop. So that was why she needed to keep moving – new challenges, new dangers. One thing she was glad of...she could be herself, if she could remember who that was. No, she'd never forgotten that. Her mother's dying breath had charged her never to forget.

*****

Later...

It's been three months since Max came back. She'd been surprised to see him again, but it made sense when she thought about it. His car was barely holding together. It had been blown up and partially crushed so it wasn't exactly a repair job for the Wasteland. He needed allies, tools, parts and a safe place to work. Once he'd reconciled himself to the idea of the Citadel, it would have been the only sensible thing to do. He knew where his allies were. Even a Fool knew how to survive.

But his car was in good shape by now. Between his own near-obsessive repairs and the tender care of the Boys who were now devoted to Max, the Interceptor couldn't have had a better chance for recovery. It'd never be quite right after its tussle with the War Party, but it was in full working order. And yet he was still here.

It was making her question her own state of mind. She'd been on the very brink of packing up a bike and leaving months ago. The new Citadel was beyond what she'd ever imagined it could be. Reason being, she'd always just banked on getting the hell out and never looking back. This new post-Joe Citadel just _didn't feel real_. After she'd recovered from her injuries, she'd had plenty to do. But there was an element of detachment to _that_ as well. The girls had taken to running the place like ducks to water and, with the guidance of Phyllis and Althea, she had less responsibility than at any other time in her life. The presence of her Vuvalini ought to have kept her grounded – to have given her a sense of home – but it wasn't quite enough. The urge to move on and leave it all behind kept gnawing away at her.

She was scouting out a route on the very day he came back. Common sense said to go West. They'd seen what lay to the East and it offered no hope. So why was she setting out on the road once travelled? _Just a last look_ , she told herself. A look for what, though?

And there it was – a signal from the dunes. That was months ago. She hadn't thought about leaving since.

*

Maybe he was going to give 'home' a try. And if _he_ could do that, then so could she. Maybe his presence was simply distracting her from this eternal angst. Good to have an outside influence to provide a bit of context, that sort of thing. If nothing else, the constant nagging question ' _when would he go?' w_ as keeping her on her toes.

He was only a distraction, though... her time at the Citadel had come to an end. She had destroyed the old regime. She didn't see a role for herself in building the new one. There were others better fitted for that. Her work here was done. She destroyed, she didn't _create_...

*****

Even later...

_Max is getting fidgety. It's not surprising. Not half a year ago he was a walking haystack of tangled hair and beard, talking only in grunts to the voices in his head. Now he was trying to live a normal life. True, the Citadel could only be classified as normal under very specific criteria. But he was sharing space with, eating with and (in his own way) talking with other people. Who weren't actively trying to kill him. It was progress. But it was very, very hard. Every morning he'd wake with a jolt. Every encounter with another human being, especially a War Boy, had him braced to lash out. Every night he'd struggle not to plan his flight in the morning. On the upside, however, he'd never expected to stick it this long. He'd just planned to drop off the salvage, report what he'd seen and leave. Yeah right. That old story. He'd had no choice in the matter. Besides, he couldn't leave._

_Because she was the only reason he was still there._

*

Max is getting restless. It's not surprising. Not long ago he was strapped to the front of Nux's car, getting drained of his lifeblood. Now he was on nodding terms with the very people who'd captured him. _Why was he still here?_  she wondered. He shouldn't want to be here. But what was becoming very, very clear to her was that, without him around...well, she'd have no reason to stay. She'd managed alright before he came back. She hadn't expected to see him again. She'd only known him a couple of days. Yeah, so they could do with a word and a glance what would take fifty words with another person. Big deal. Her mother had _conceived a child_ with a man she'd only known three days, and she hadn't sat around pining. Not visibly, anyway.

It's not like she'd been out looking for him.

But now she'd had him around for months, it would be...hard...if he went off into the Wasteland again. She wouldn't be able to stick around after that. Because he was the only reason she was still there.

*

A little after that...

One morning, she summoned up courage to ask. "You want to go, don't you?"

He looked startled, but conscious. Transparent man that he was. "Me? No! Well...kind of. Yes and no. Mainly no."

She looked at him quizzically. She didn't understand where the conflict lay. She had her own reasons for wanting to leave, but she wished she knew what _his_ motivations were. She'd have to take action, this was making her crazy.

"Let's take a drive. You haven't tested her out properly yet" nodding to the Interceptor.

He hadn't, though he was dying to. He was afraid he'd keep on driving, go back to his old existence. He didn't want that. But he wouldn't if she was there with him. He nodded.

"Yeah. That'd be good."

*

"It's just a test drive. We'll be back before nightfall."

"That what the kids are calling it these days?" Althea nudged Phyllis, who sniggered. Furiosa raised her eyebrows and shook her head. It was a popular game at the moment – innuendo bingo about her sex life. _Hah._ If only they knew. The girls' imaginations were working overtime, and the older women were playing now. Furiosa stalked off, muttering to herself.

"Did you catch that, girl?" Phyllis asked Cheedo. "My ears aren't as good as they used to be."

Cheedo made a noncommittal noise. She'd definitely heard Furiosa say ' _Chance would be a fine thing'_ but felt it would be unsporting to say so.

"Our Fury's picked up a bit since the boy came back. He's a good distraction." The Vuvalini sat at a table, cleaning their guns.

"Distraction? From what?" asked Cheedo.

"She's got roaming ways. She's only stayed in the same place for twenty years because she had to. Seems she takes after her dad in that respect. Mary was more of a homebird."

Cheedo was dismayed. She'd seen that Furiosa was out of sorts since she was sound enough to get around again. But she'd just put that down to her missing Max. That suited Cheedo's romantic tendencies. "But she can't go! We're getting the place running so nicely, and it's all because of her."

"She set the ball rolling, sure, but it's you girls that are running the show now. Besides, she's not _happy_. At least, she certainly wasn't a few months ago. And I'm not even sure she is now."

*

They were all in the pump room after Furiosa and Max's departure. Cheedo was eagerly scanning the horizon. " _I see them!_ " She called out. "Wait, they've stopped."

"Leave them alone, Cheedo!" cried Capable. "Bit of privacy..."

"Aww, it's not broken down already, has it?" wailed Toast, who'd helped with the repair.

"No, they're moving again. What happened? I looked away."

Phyllis was peering through Toast's eyeglass. "Hell's bells. It must be love. He's letting her drive."

They all looked suitably impressed, apart from Dag who looked up and asked, "What's the big deal about that?" She didn't get out of the gardens much.

*

It felt so much freer out on the road. It seemed that the walls of the Citadel had the same effect on both of them. Out here they could floor it, really test out the engine. It was exhilarating. The horizon stretched out on all sides, offering so many choices. Some people would find it overwhelming, but Furiosa felt she could just let her mind expand to fill it all. No pressure, no boundaries. No-one chasing them. And Max belonged on the road. He stood taller, his shoulders losing that hunched, defensive look he had when he was around people.

She'd driven them onto the edge of a rocky promontory. They got out and sat on the bonnet, taking in the expanse of the horizon. She breathed deep, and let it out slowly.

"I was about to leave...when you came back," she murmured.

He looked up suddenly. "Where to?"

"Not sure...West, probably."

"For how long?"

She shrugged.

"Glad I came back when I did, then" he smiled weakly.

"You could have come looking for me" she joked.

"It's a big Wasteland. Might never have found you."

So, returning to the Citadel to find her gone would have been a disappointment? This was news. Not like she hadn't _hoped_ , but it was different to hear him say it. Or imply it, anyway. This was Max, after all.

"So why didn't you go?" he asked.

"Ran into you on the road" she smiled a little. "Would've been rude to run off after that. But it's better out here, right? Can't stick around forever."

He looked at her intently, apprehensively.

"So I'm thinking..." she continued, staring determinedly at the horizon. "How would it be it, next time...and I know you said you go your own way, but..."

"But that was then..." he interrupted.

"And this is now" she agreed, turning towards him. "So...shall we go together?"

Max didn't say anything, just leaned towards her to rest his forehead against hers, as her hand touched the back of his head. They stayed like that for a few seconds, gazes locked. Then, as his eyelids dropped a little, he shifted his head slightly and brushed his lips against hers...just a little. Some internal organ, whether her heart or her stomach, flipped a somersault at this point. _'Am I dreaming?' s_ he thought. _Doesn't matter_. She kissed him back...just a little. Then a lot.

*

When they finally came back up for air, Furiosa was, for once, lost for words. "Glad you came back...missed you" she managed. "Wait...was that a yes?" she added, with a sudden fear that she'd presumed too much.

Max blinked bemusedly. He was equally stunned by this development. He'd risked everything by one rash act and was dizzy at the outcome. He nodded. "Definitely...yes." She let out a deep breath, and looked very, very glad. Max looked at her wonderingly. "Never thought you'd..." he mumbled, waving a hand helplessly. _What would she want with a fucked-up feral like him?_ "Never dreamed..." He stopped, with a faint smile, at a memory. "No, that's not true..."

She tilted her head and looked into his face. He couldn't quite meet her eye. "You've been dreaming?" she asked. He shrugged slightly and went a very faint shade of pink. _That kind of dream then?_ she wondered, smiling to herself. _Worth a try.._. She leaned in a whispered in his ear, inhaling his scent, "Show me...?"

*

In a twist of fortune, the moon was shining full, and Furiosa stood before him as he sat on the Interceptor. And so, Max proceeded to enact the moonlit garage scene of his dream, right up to the point of _'and then I woke up'_. Furiosa was just as disappointed at the abrupt conclusion as he could have hoped. She closed her eyes and sighed into his hair. "The play is played out. Shame. Got any more?" she smiled down at him as he sat with his hands on her thighs.

"Well..." he looked thoughtful. "You'd be surprised..."

*

As night fell over the Wasteland, Phyllis scanned the horizon briefly. "Hope they're alright out there."

Althea nudged her. "What did I say? They won't be back tonight? They're fine. Just enjoying being on the road."

*

So this was how Furiosa found herself sprawled limply on the bonnet of the Interceptor, getting her breath back, thigh draped over Max's shoulder and trousers tangled round her boots. Max disentangled himself and joined her, rubbing some sensation back into his jaw. She couldn't blame him for looking a little smug, she thought, as she'd almost certainly yelled his name to the empty desert sky. But, more pertinently, she was concerned that she'd twisted his head clean off by her reaction at the finish. But, no, he seemed to be undamaged.

"I never thought it'd be like that" she gasped, gazing up at the stars. "And I've thought about it a lot." She turned over to face him. " _About you...a lot_ " she added. She sighed, her eyes closed and her head rested on his arm. Her breathing deepened, all was quiet. Then she heard him let out a long shuddering sigh.

"You thought I was asleep, didn't you?" She mumbled, smiling into his shoulder. He made a _Mmm-hmm_ noise into her ruffled hair. "Well, no chance. It's your turn now." She raised herself onto her stump and kissed him, running her hand down his shirt front 'til she found what she was looking for. She'd learned a lot from her long years of observation in the War Boys barracks, and was keen to try it out. Max seemed to appreciate it.

*

They slept through the short night on the bonnet of the car. Not comfortable, certainly, but no worse than War Boy bunks. 

She lay still and tried to regulate her breathing, regain her calm. She'd woken with what felt like a jolt, but clearly not violent to wake Max. He was still slumbering, arm over her waist. It was alright. She was under the stars, Joe was dead, there was no Vault. The dream was confused, rapidly fading, but left that sick feeling of horror.

_She'd been found out. They were taking her back. All those years of hiding had come to nothing._

It was no good. As the sky began to glow in the east, she carefully disentangled herself from his arms and walked silently away. A few minutes pacing up and down helped to wash away the nausea, the sense of peril. She was free, everything had changed. The old rules didn't apply any more. She didn't have to hide, be afraid. No shackles, no cages, mental or otherwise. For either of them.

A last deep breath and she turned back to the car. He was sitting there, the new day's sun casting rays on his face. Watching her, but giving her the space she needed. He didn't know, but she felt he understood enough not to misconstrue her actions.

*

"That was new, you know?" She told him. "I've never...it never felt safe before, not with Joe around. Wasn't going back to the Vault."

"And now? Safer?"

"With you?" she chuckled. "Safer, yes, but more dangerous."

 _You and me both_ , he thought, as they drove back to the Citadel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was brought to you by Supergrass  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WRtHGQ63XjY


	14. First Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Max and Furiosa have a bit of a scrap to break the tension. I mean, they’re hardly going to hold hands in the back row of the cinema on their first proper date, are they?

_In the car I just can’t wait_  
_To pick you up on our first date_  
_Is it cool if I hold your hand?_  
_Is it wrong if I think its lame to dance?_  
_Do you like my stupid hair?_  
_Would you guess that I didn’t know what to wear?_

 

The irony…

They’d spent the last three weeks getting ready to go. Explaining to the girls, to Phyl and Althea, to the others. They were, by and large, easier to win over than she’d expected. Which made her wonder just how wired and cranky she’d been lately…

Once the difficult part was over, there only remained the anticipation. The Road, the freedom… _the company_. They effectively had carte blanche to be away for as long as they liked. _Probably a bit of reverse psychology on Phyl’s part._ Funny how the Citadel seemed less of a prison once the gates were held open. They’d both agreed on a month. Two, tops. _All the things they could do, the places they could go._ The possibilities were endless.

So why did it feel kind of… _awkward_? Speeding along, Max at her side, flooring the gas. Supplies in the back, gun within reach. It should have been perfection. Maybe it was. Maybe that was the problem.

She would glance at him out of the corner of her eye. More often than not, he was doing the same. The tension was palpable, and neither of them seemed to know how to break the impasse.

“Stop for a bit?” she suggested. Max grunted assent and drew the car to a halt. It wasn’t an ideal spot to rest up, but the landscape wasn’t offering any preferable alternatives. Just a flat plain strewn with rocks, none large enough to offer any shade. But they needed to stretch their legs, get some water. _It was so bloody hot…_

She knew she was irritable, and Max was even more deafeningly silent than usual. The sweat was trickling down behind her ears and making her itch.

 _Okay, time to get moving again._ She held out her hand to him, mutely asking for the keys. He looked at her hand blankly.

“My turn to drive” she explained.

“Uh-huh. I drive” he replied.

“It’s been hours. It’s my turn” she persisted.

He shook his head stubbornly. “My car. I drive.”

“But that’s just _stupid_ ” she rolled her eyes, trying hard not to lose her rag. No wonder she’d called him Fool. Then she caught the twinkle in his eye, and her mouth twisted into a smile. _Ohoho, okay then_.... _you want to play that game?_ She narrowed her eyes and tightened the straps on her prosthetic.

“Fight you for them," she grinned.

*

He had the strength and the weight advantage. She had the speed and tricks of a War Boy and Vuvalini combined. And they both fought dirty. The Marquis of Queensberry would have lasted two seconds. It should have been a pretty even match. However, Max found it disconcerting to fight someone with a metal arm. Even a friendly tap with that appendage would probably cause some damage. He found himself defending more than attacking. So it wasn’t long before he was on his back in the dust, Furiosa sitting astride his chest. He clutched the car keys tightly in his right hand, trying to keep them out of her reach. When she made a grab across his body to get at them, he took the advantage of the shift in her balance to flip her over. Within a second, she’d wrapped her legs around him and flipped them back again.

They were back where they started. Neither could get the advantage. Furiosa couldn’t get at his right hand without losing her position, and Max knew he would end up on his back if he tried that again. They stared each other out, panting for breath, sweaty and caked with dust. Furiosa arched her back like a cat, enough to allow her to rest her forehead against his. “ _What_ am I going to do with you?” she growled.

“Anything you want… _if you ask nicely_ ” he replied, with a lift of the eyebrows.

She grinned and kissed him. His right hand twitched slightly, but remained closed. She nipped his lip with her teeth. He sighed…his hand opened and the keys dropped to the ground.

*

It was an awkward angle to kiss him like that, and her neck was beginning to protest, so she shuffled her knees backward and sat back. Whether by accident or by design, it was too sudden to be entirely sure, she just happened to rest her full weight on _just the right part of him_ to make them both groan simultaneously. Furiosa’s eyes unfocused slightly.

The contested keys were forgotten. _As if they ever really mattered._ She no longer felt the sun beat down on the back of her neck, the humming in the air and the heat haze on the horizon. All she felt was the pressure _just there_ , and the overwhelming need for more.

*

Max propped himself up on one elbow and ran his free hand up her ribs to the side of her neck and down again, resting it firmly on the small of her back, as she rotated her hips down on him with a slow, firm movement, biting her lip, _chasing, chasing._ He watched her, fascinated, as she slowed right down, making one, two long hard grinds against him, then stopped suddenly and exhaled jerkily, like she had been holding her breath the whole time.

She slowly stretched her shoulders upwards and back again with a faraway smile. _“Mmmm…nice”_ she murmured with a contented sigh.

Well, that had certainly worked off the tension for one of them. It was just enough to be tantalising, but Max knew that it wasn’t enough to have quite the same effect on him. Not quite enough friction; he wore his trousers for their thickness and durability, after all. It was almost enough to see her, though, flushed of cheek and smiling dreamily. He must have spoken his need wordlessly though, because she reached for his straining crotch and gave him a few firm, slow strokes. Then, abruptly, she clambered to her feet, snatched up the car keys from where they lay disregarded in the dust, and walked purposefully towards the car.

He watched her in consternation as she opened the driver’s door. _Was she going to drive off and leave him there?_

But she merely perched sideways on the driver’s seat and beckoned to him archly with the crook of her finger.

_Okaaaaay then…_

He scrambled to his feet and _tried_ to walk unhurriedly towards her.

*

_Here was the chance for something new. She knew he could do wonderful things with his mouth…what could she do with hers?_

Looking up to him for permission -  _he nodded jerkily -_  Furiosa carefully extricated his cock from his trousers and stroked his length thoughtfully for a few seconds, then did the same with her lips and tongue, running them along ‘til she reached the tip, which she gave a quick lick. She had only a very sketchy idea of what to do, not having seen it performed in sufficient detail in the Barracks. _Rhythm, that’s the key_. And avoid the teeth, presumably, at least on the first outing anyway. And she was nothing if not a quick learner. For example, after his initial _Gnngh_ at her overtures, he was breathing heavily and leaning his weight on the burning-hot roof of the car. When she applied her tongue to the fleshy knob at the end, his knees nearly buckled under him and she had to brace him with her mechanical arm round his half-bared ass. And so she worked at him, feeling his thighs shake and his breathing get irregular.

“Look out, I’m…”

And, of course, she was looking out, keeping a watchful eye on the horizon as best she could, since Max was probably _not concentrating on sentry duty_ at this point.

“Ohhh, Fu…”

 _Wait. Hang on, that’s probably not what he means_ …

She only had time to wonder if he was going to call out her name, or something more generic, when her attention was arrested by the decision _swallow or choke_ , as a jet of warm fluid hit the back of her throat. He made a sound like a wounded animal and shuddered violently.  _Well, he did try to warn me..._

As he sank to his knees in front of her, she was trying to keep an attack of giggles at bay. But when he sank his head on her knee and gasped _“Furiosa…”_ , that finished her. Question answered, then.

Too blissed out to be perturbed by her snort of laughter, he just looked up blearily. “What’s funny?”

“You took me by surprise, that’s all” she returned, giggling helplessly.

“That’s not like you” he mumbled into her trouserleg.

“You’re distracting. Could become a problem” she replied.

Max looked like he could fall asleep right there, head against her shin, in the small pool of shade. She ruffled his hair fondly and shook her leg. “Come on, can’t sit around here all day.” _He groaned sleepily._  “And I’m driving. You can sleep in the car.”

That settled it.

*

Tearing along, Max getting comfortable in the passenger seat, boots up on the dash. “That was fun…” he murmured.

“See what happens when I get my own way?” she teased, shifting up a gear.

“When I wind you up…” he smiled, drifting off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is courtesy of Blink 182  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vVy9Lgpg1m8
> 
> Okay, I know it's highly unrealistic that Max would still have the keys to the Interceptor after all this time. Let's just pretend they're made out of human bone or something, like the War Rig's gearstick/knife combo. Something equivalently post-apocalyptically badass. 
> 
> This was written as an add-in because there's a sad dearth of smut. Though it's pretty pants as smut goes. Sorry!


	15. Real Gone Kid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Furiosa and Max find a kid in the Wasteland. Max opens up about his past. Childhood memories. Hope for the future, plus a bit of unexpected revelation.

They were just two days out on their first trip together. It had been pretty uneventful. Their main objective? To drive until they found a secluded spot, where they could park up...in short, they did nothing that would much interest anyone but themselves.

Until they spotted something that broke the restful monotony of the landscape. A burnt-out van. No sign of activity. They drove nearer, weapons ready. Pulling up the Interceptor about a hundred yards away, they approached the wreck. Windscreen shattered, burnt out but no signs of explosion. Charred remains of two people inside, both looked like women. Furiosa and Max shared a glance. Looked like they'd run out of guzz just in time to be raided. Maybe didn't have much to steal, so the raiders burned the car out of spite.

"Hmm, what's this?" Max looked closer at the driver's door. There were signs of attempt to prise the door open from the outside, scratches and dents about halfway down. Soot had been wiped and smeared by small hands.

*

Furiosa took a look underneath the van. Nothing, nobody, there. Then there's a faint noise over by the nearby rocky rise. They move silently closer to its source. A child is there, maybe about four or five years old. Hair matted and tangled, practically skin and bone. He's flicking little pebbles on the ground and talking to himself. Occasionally he makes a little croaking cheer from his cracked lips. He doesn't seem to hear them approach. Seemed to be lost in his game, unaware of the rest of the world.

Furiosa edged over cautiously, crouched down in front of him with a whispered "Hey".

Quick as lightning he lashed out with a small knife, catching her across the left arm. She scrambled backwards in the dust with a startled cry. Max leapt forward and grabbed the kid's thin wrist, forcing him to drop the knife, which he kicked away. He let got of the child and darted over to Furiosa, who was pressing her black scarf tightly to the wound.

"It's okay, he's just scared." She nodded to the boy, who was huddled in a crack between the rocks. "Stupid...startled him..." she muttered between gritted teeth.

Max said nothing til he'd examined her wound which, to his relief, was only superficial. He tied it up and looked towards the boy. "What'll we do with him?"

"Water first...no, I'll do it" as Max picked up the canteen. "He's seen me bleed, he might be less afraid now" she said, with a wry smile. The took the canteen from him and edged forwards cautiously. The kid had lost his knife, but she'd have to assume it wasn't his only one. She laid the canteen down on the ground and backed off. They both walked back to the Interceptor, from where they watched the boy dart forward and snatch up the canteen. He scrambled back to his place of safety. Some minutes later, they heard uncertain movements from the crack in the rocks. Furiosa called out "Want food?" A shock of dark hair emerged cautiously. She rolled an apple in his direction, for which he made a scuttling grab. A lump of bread followed it shortly after.

*

They became aware of small figure creeping tentatively towards them. Max made a shift at packing to leave. The boy came closer, perhaps his fear of the strangers replaced by a dread of being left alone. He stepped forward, his hands raised to show he wasn't armed.

"Sorry I cut you" he quavered.

"That's alright. Just don't do it again." Furiosa replied, still packing her bag. "We aren't going to hurt you" she turned to him and said softly "We want to help. What's your name?"

The boy looked at her for a moment, then replied "Toots."

"Are you alone, Toots? Is there anyone with you?"

"No...they got burned. Only Tony and me got out."

"Who's Tony? Is he here?" Furiosa looked around quickly.

"Tony's my friend, but he lives _faaaaar_ away."

 _Hmmm, bit weird_ , thought Furiosa. "Do you talk to Tony?"

"Yep. He keeps me company when I'm by myself."

 _Okay, imaginary friend. That's probably alright, then._ "How long have you been by yourself, Toots?" She probed further.

The kid looked around, then at his hands and down at himself, as if to find something to give him an indication. Then he brightened, burying his hands in his matted hair, pulling it about. He held two fingers out about two inches apart. "This long." he concluded.

Furiosa nodded and glanced up at Max, who nodded approvingly. Sharp kid.

*

They left him wrapped in blankets, playing with his pebbles and chewing a piece of hard biscuit.

"Poor kid. What do you make of this Tony business?" Furiosa asked.

"Probably kept him sane all this time" Max replied. "As long as he doesn't start talking to his finger..."

"Eh?"

"Just something from a...show I saw once" he shook his head dismissively. "Not important."

"We should get a bit more out of him, just to be sure he's not going to freak out again."

*

"What you playing?" Furiosa crouched down near Toots, this time making plenty of noise as she did so.

"'S called Subbuteo. Tony taught me. You've got two teams and you gotta get the ball in the goal. Tony's better at it than me. He knows how to flick 'em better. That's how you kick the ball. I'm better at singing."

When Max asked him to give them a song, Toots shook his head and went quiet.

*

"You okay?" Furiosa followed Max to the car where he seemed to have retreated.

"Kid's scared of me."

"Well...it looked like there were only women in the car. Maybe he's not used to men. Besides, you _are_ a bit scary." She meant it as a joke, but he frowned, looked kind of pained. Before she could think of what to say, he'd turned away abruptly. He was walking over to where Toots sat. He sat down a respectful distance away, with his hands on his knees. Toots looked at him warily. Max seemed to be trying to find words. He looked up at Furiosa almost appealingly, where she'd followed him at a distance. He looked like what he was going to say was a much for her as it was for Toots.

"I had a kid, once. A little boy" he said to Toots.

"Not any more?"

Max shook his head. "No. Bad man killed him."

Toots regarded him solemnly for a moment. "I had a daddy".

"Mm?" Max inquired.

"Don't 'member him. Mum and Aunty said he was nice. Got this" he fumbled in his pocket and produced a long dreadlock tied round a button. He put out a small hand for Max to shake. "I'm Toots."

"Hi Toots. I'm Max."

*

Toots wandered off to find more pebbles. Furiosa came over to where Max was sitting. She knelt down by him and reached out to touch his shoulder, uncertainly. She doesn't know what to say.

He looked up at her. "Should have told you before now."

She buried her face in his hair. "You're not really scary." He chuckled a little and hugged her closer.

"That's not all I need to tell you" he murmured and looked at her almost apologetically. "His mother, my wife... _my partner_ " he hurriedly added, knowing that 'wife' had a different meaning in Furiosa's experience. "She died too." He didn't know what to expect from this disclosure, either from himself or from her. He'd told her on impulse, the only way he probably could have got the words out. He hadn't spoken of Jessie in...how long? He didn't know how it would affect him. Would he break down here, in front of Furiosa? No. It was strange, but he was only concerned with how she would take the news. So he looked up at her steadily, inquiringly.

"She was your One" she said softly, nodding.

"Long time ago..."

Furiosa seemed to think for a moment, then blinked as if dismissing whatever thoughts were occupying her. Then she drew him to her, holding him close, stroking his hair a little.

*

This was kind of a big deal to Furiosa, though probably not in the way Max feared. She'd never known anyone in the Green Place who'd had that kind of relationship, who'd paired for life. It certainly wasn't discouraged, but the social dynamics of the place made it difficult. But Max had chosen, and had been chosen, for life. ' _Til death do us part_ , that was what they used to say.

Lots to think about...but now wasn't the time. He needed comfort and she wanted to give it.

*

Toots came back from his expedition to find Max and Furiosa sitting together where he'd left them. He plonked down in the dust to sort his stash into two piles.

"Find anything good?" Furiosa asked.

"Yup. Gonna pick my new teams."

"Looks like a good game." Max said. "Show me?"

After about ten minutes of detailed tuition, Toots looked up and announced "I think my dad was like you."

"I bet he was much better than me."

"And did you kill the bad man?"

Max's brow furrowed. "Yes" he replied.

Toots wrinkled his nose approvingly. "Good. I'm gonna do that when I'm bigger. To the men who did _that_." He pointed towards the burnt out van. Max made a mental note to get the two women out of the van and bury them in the morning.

"Don't" he shook his head. "Doesn't help."

*

"There's a place near here. We've come from there. They'll look after you. Will you let us take you there?" Furiosa asked Toots.

"Can't I come with you?"

They shared a look."It's too dangerous. You need looking after."

"I'm tough" the emaciated kid declared stoutly.

"I know you are" she smiled. "But you'll like it there. Lots of kids to play with."

He brightened at this. "Do they play Subbuteo?"

"I don't know. Maybe you can teach them." That settled it.

*

When they got settled comfortably for the night, Furiosa asked Max "You know when you said you'd seen a show? About a kid talking to his finger...? How...? I thought they'd finished long before our time."

His eyes grew dim, faraway. Furiosa was sorry she'd asked, if it brought back painful memories. But a smile appeared in them, suggesting happier times than she ever suspected he'd experienced. "I grew up in the city. My family stayed when others left. Didn't want to give up."

"Brave."

"Stubborn, maybe."

"What was it like? The city, I mean."

"Breaking. Broken. But we stayed in our house, got food okay. There were few enough people left by then, and we could still grow some things ourselves. I went to school for a while, Dad went to work. Mum too, some days. Helping out anyone, really."

Furiosa thought of how different it must have been. All the changes he'd seen between then and now. There and here.

"And there was still power. The electric grid, I mean. That's how I saw my shows" he smiled a wry smile.

"I thought they'd stopped those long before. Keep said so, anyway."

"They'd stopped broadcasting. But we had some recorded. Like Dag's records, but you could watch them on a screen. VHS, it was called. We used to sit and watch them, while the power was on."

"What was the one with the kid and the finger?"

"'The Shining' it was called. I was too young to watch that, really. Had nightmares about _that_ for a while." But he chuckled little at the memory. Just the normal scary dreams of childhood, then.

"How'd you end up here?"

"When my parents died...they got sick and died within days of each other...I stayed for a while. Then moved to the outskirts. Had a new family for a while...then just kept moving. Further and further away. No reason to stay."

She looked at him thoughtfully for a moment and turned a little, resting her head on his chest, trying to imagine. What a strange life he must have had. To have seen all those far-off things, things she thought already belonged in the past, long before she was born. He must have learned to survive as he got older. Though it was probably as tough, in its own way, to survive in that breaking city as it was out here in the dust and the emptiness.  _Family_...she wondered what had happened to them.

Furiosa felt his breath in her hair, and looked up to see him looking down at her quizzically. He raised an eyebrow in a wordless question. Then remembered he probably ought to vocalise it...

"You...What was it like before...all this?"

She closed her eyes, dug deep into her own childhood memories. "There were fruit trees. Not like the spindly little ones on the terraces. Great old gnarly spreading ones."

Max sighed. He missed trees. And fruit trees were the best. They gave so much.

"And long grass for pasture." she continued. "Goats' milk. Cornfields. The Green Place had always been there, I think. But the Mothers occupied it two, three generations ago. They said they saw which way the wind was blowing."

"So they left the party early? Good survival tactic."

She nodded. "It worked for a while. We thought it'd last forever, but we were kidding ourselves" she sighed, with a shrug.

"Everything changes. Got to know when to move on. They did it once, then you showed them how to do it again. Who knows when next time'll be?"

She took a deep slow breath, to process this thought.  _Yes, maybe that was it_. There would always be Green Places. You just had to know where to find them. This was a hope that could hold out against disappointments. Didn't rely on the past, could see a future ahead. Hope wasn't a mistake, it was a promise. A gift that needed to be given little and often. Like he'd just given her. She wanted to give some back.

She sat up and looked him in the face. "If there's another Green Place out there, we'll find it. Together. I promise you." She held out her hand, like he had when they agreed to turn back. He grasped it and drew it to his lips.

*

Furiosa took the first watch. _There was a kid to look out for_   _now._ As Max drifted off to sleep, leaning back against her chest, he felt that, for the first time in numberless years, a plan, a future was forming in his vision. They would go together and find a new Green Place if it took them a lifetime.

*

They're packing up the Interceptor for the return journey to the Citadel. Toots trots round after Max, talking constantly. Max was a little exhausted by all the attention. When Toots wasn't talking about Tony and Subbuteo, he'd ask probing questions in a whisper that was more audible than usual speech. _Kids don't learn to whisper until they learn what it is to be embarrassed_ , he thought.

"Is the lady your special friend?" Toots was having trouble with the name 'Furiosa'. They'd tried him with 'Fury', but be kept calling her 'the lady', which amused her hugely.

"Hmm, yes, suppose so" replied Max, blushing slightly. He wondered how much of this Furiosa was hearing.

"My mum and dad were special friends."

"Ah?"

"I know a lot about special friends" Toots declared, quite proudly.

"Do you?" asked Max apprehensively, wondering where this was going.

"Yup. Aunty told me. They hold hands, kiss, fight and make babies. Do you do that?"

"Um, sometimes" replied Max, reluctantly feeling that honesty was the best policy.

"You have babies?" asked Toots hopefully.

"No..."

Toots looked disappointed. Max felt strangely impelled to add "But we haven't been special friends for very long..."

Behind the Interceptor was a crash that sounded exactly like a full can of guzz being dropped on a foot. Muffled swearing followed. Max sighed.

*

While Max drove, Toots looked with interest at Furiosa's truncated forearm. The prosthetic aggravated the cut on her arm, so she's left it off since meeting Toots.

"I hurt it when I was about your age" she offers, before he can ask. "Got a metal arm now though." She picked up it and waved it at him.

Toots looked suitably impressed.

*

The kid's jaw dropped as they approached the Citadel. It tended to have that effect. Furiosa and Max would have agreed, if the topic had ever come up, that they'd both thought it a spectacular sight when they first saw it, even under the influence of terror, rage, grief and resignation. It probably looked like an adventure playground to a kid who'd be _rescued_ rather than captured.

*

Max led Toots away, discreetly briefing Capable about his history and imaginary friend as they walked. Furiosa was forced to stay put by the quizzing of the others.

"Three days! That's how long you could stay away. Bet you missed us!" cried Cheedo, giving her a hug.

"Cute kid. Need to feed him up a bit, though" said Toast, nodding after the departing trio. "Hey, what the hell happened your arm?"

"The _cute kid_ can look after himself when he needs to" said Furiosa significantly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might have been a bit self-indulgent in my references here. Tony is NOT the Tony from 'The Shining'. No-one is psychic in this series. Or an axe-murderer, for that matter. So far, anyway.  
> Toots is named after Toots Hibbert, from Toots and the Maytals (whose music always makes me smile). Because I've been listening to a lot of reggae when I was writing this and I thought it'd be cute name for a kid OC. His Wikipedia entry takes great care to emphasise that he is NOT related to Tony Hibbert (veteran Everton defender). This tickled me hugely. Because every famous person with the same surname is related, unless you specify otherwise.  
> So Toots' imaginary friend is basically Tony Hibbert, who teaches Toots to play Subbuteo (if you don't know, this is a table-top version of football. Soccer, if you must).  
> No-one gives a crap about this, I know. But ideas have got to start somewhere.
> 
> It was a bit of a challenge to find a song-related title for this one.
> 
> 'Real Gone Kid' - it sounds to me like it's about memories. Plus, I like the song.  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5SD4lI9GKUE


	16. Your Star Will Shine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's on Furiosa's mind? Max's loss, lifetime relationships as an alien concept, her past sufferings and misdemeanours...the list goes on. And then there are her crippling hang-ups about Citadel intimacy. An overnight bolt for the hills eases the tension.

Furiosa was unusually quiet after their return with the kid. She seemed fine, Phyllis thought, not restless or particularly troubled as such. Not like while she was recovering from her injuries. Just _very, very thoughtful_. She spent about as much time with Max as before they went off together. A lot of tension seemed to have dissipated since then. _About bloody time_ , Phyllis smiled to herself. Any longer and she'd have had to bang their silly heads together.

But Max was still sleeping in his car. Furiosa was nominally in her old Imperator quarters but, in reality, she could be found up on the watchtower. _Not quite domestic bliss, then?_ But, to be fair, Max was usually there too. This wasn't one of those occasions, though. Good opportunity to ask, then.

"Why so pensive, lass?"

Furiosa shifted uncomfortably and sighed. If she had to talk about it...and she did have to talk about it, this was becoming clear...it'd be better be to Phyl. She needed someone to tell her she was being stupid.

"Max was paired for life. He had One, and she's dead."

"And a child too?" Phyllis asked.

"How'd you know that?" Furiosa looked up in surprise.

Phyllis just shrugged. "Seen men like him before. Live in small families, you break down when they get killed. Used to think it was because men weren't right, up here." She waggled her fingers at her head. "Not equipped to deal with kids. Get too attached. They'd join the men's clan for a while, but'd usually be long gone by the time the next visit came round. But some would sort themselves out, right enough. Others...not so much. When was this?"

"Long time ago, is all he said."

Phyllis thought over how they'd been since their last return. Presumably finding the kid had led him to talk about his family. It didn't seem like he was any more jittery or cracked than usual. If anything, Max seemed more attentive to Furi's moods, like he was more concerned for her.

Funny how things worked out opposite to what you'd expect. First impressions of the Fool, she thought he'd have to be put down some day, like that poor crazy sod when she was a kid. Fine one minute, like a rabid dog the next. Healers couldn't help him.

The Fool had been twitchy, eyes followed things that nobody else could see. But now...she wasn't much worried.

"So what's the issue? In particular, I mean."

Furiosa played with her bootlace distractedly. "Just...I've never seen that kind of...how does it even  _work?_ " she finished, lamely.

"Choosing your One? Seems to me, a person just needs to ask herself a couple of questions. _One_...is there anyone else she'd rather be with? Could she imagine anyone else coming along?"

Furiosa blinked, paused, shook her head very slightly. _What are the chances of that happening?_

" _Two_...does she trust 'em?"

Furiosa tilted her head a fraction and twitched an eyebrow. Easily translatable as 'well, _yeah_...' in body language.

" _Three_...how would she feel if they went away, _never to return_?" Phyllis raised an eyebrow archly. 

Furiosa shivered a little and glanced at the horizon.

"And then you have to put up with them 'til one of you dies." Phyllis concluded, abruptly. "Well, that's how I see it, anyway. Feeling better informed now? Good."

"Yeah...I mean, you probably can't even _have_ more than one One...What am I saying? That's not the point. Should I be worried about him? What should I do here, Phyl?...People are so difficult..." she groaned. "I want to _help_. Don't want to break him..."

"Do what feels right. Seems to be working out okay so far...?"

"Right, so I'm over-thinking this, then? Good. Thank you." She patted Phyllis awkwardly on the arm and abruptly departed.

"He's in the garage..." Phyllis called after her.

*

They stayed at the Citadel for over a month, to make sure that Toots was settling in okay. The kid was in his element, and had already organised a Subbuteo tournament. He'd taken to 'helping' Dag up in the roof gardens where she played her records to the crops. They'd often hear him singing along.

*

Furiosa was having a tougher time of it. She'd found it nearly impossible to shake off her irrational fear of sexual contact within the Citadel's walls.

_On promotion, she'd moved to her own Room. She'd finally convinced herself that no-one was watching her, but she still couldn't bring herself to indulge in what had been so long denied. It was only when Giddy helpfully pointed out the Joe would not call for her, that she felt she could retake control of her body. Her mind was more of a problem. She tried to think of the childish experiments she'd had with Val. That made her smile, but had no other effect. After all, she wasn't a child anymore. She tried to picture a woman with long black hair and olive skin, dark eyes. That was better, but still a hazy featureless image. She didn't know that woman, not really. The real Val would persist in staying a child in her mind's eye._

_Men, then. But, to her, all men were nightmares and brothers both, white-chalked and scar-lipped. She'd lived with them too long, fearing them while becoming one of them. No good either. And she was too afraid that, if she persisted, the image would become that of Joe. No. She'd sooner do without, forever._

_One night, when the sleeplessness couldn't be overcome, she went out onto the terraces and looked to the sky. The stars gazed back at the world in serene pity. So what if she were alone? Severed from any human comfort? She was surely used to that by now. Returning to her bed, she saw he stars in her mind's eye. She could lose herself in them. That was enough._

_But that was before..._

Before they took the War Rig and ran for their freedom. Before her long-cherished hope was shattered. Before she ended Joe at last.

And before her thoughts coalesced into human form, with this new awareness of Max. Finally she had shape and colour and texture and sound for her imagination to revel in. And smell. Mothers, the smell of him would stay with her forever.

Then he came back and, despite her best intentions, she continued to use his image in her mind. And now even that wasn't enough. Now she knew he was hers for the asking. She needed _him_. But while they were in the Citadel, she didn't dare. To lose control, with another person, with _him,_ within these walls? The thought tormented her, both terrifying and enticing. No, she needed the open sky.

Max understood, and Furiosa assumed he was taking care of himself, his Citadel neuroses not taking that particular turn. But it was driving her crazy. She was getting twitchy and irritable. It was time for another road trip.

Max didn't have to be asked twice. He had the car ready on the lift within five minutes flat. The residents of the Citadel literally did not see them for dust.

*

They drove just as far as they needed to be out of scope range. Scrambling into the back of the Interceptor, boots off, shirts off. The weight of him on top of her was glorious, as he kissed her neck and she wrapped her legs round his waist. They were ready, she was definitely ready. But the more she tried to relax, the more her thigh muscles tightened in almost fearful anticipation. It was so frustrating.

So she rolled him onto his back and straddled his hips, easing herself down slowly, slowly, under her own weight. Yes, it hurt...but nowhere near as much as she expected. She relaxed a little, getting used to the sensation. He stroked her hair soothingly. Then she began to move. It took some time to get a rhythm going, but he guided her with his hands on her hips, careful to let her take her own pace.

It was good, but she didn't climax. She was too busy revelling in the novel sensation and watching Max in the sunset light, his eyes closed and breathing deeply, then stiffening with a guttural groan as he came. She leaned forward carefully and kissed him as he regained a normal rhythm of breathing.

" _You didn't_..." he murmured, focusing on her face, his blissful brainfog clearing.

She smiled as she whispered, "First time, remember? I've got a good feeling about this whole thing."

"It's not over yet." he replied. When he went down on her, he delayed and teased and drove her crazy. It was well worth it.

*

They lay side by side under a warm blanket. The evening was getting chilly. Max was idly stroking his fingers over Furiosa's collarbone. When he brushed a raised scar on the curve of her breast, she tensed slightly. It was so new, being laid bare like this. She sat up a little, half wanting to cover up, but disliking to hide anything from him.

"Bit of a mess, this..." she smiled awkwardly, letting the failing light fall on the jagged scar that ran from her shoulder and down her right side.

"There was a War Boy...a sore loser. I made a mistake that time. He did this with my own knife." She gritted her teeth at the memory.

Max tentatively raised his hand towards her, glancing up at her for permission. She nodded and he ran his fingers gently along the raised and puckered tissue.

"What did you do to him?" he asked.

She smiled a little at his assumption, and replied in a faraway voice "Cracked his skull. Didn't quite mean to, don’t think so, anyway. Was him or me" she shrugged. 

He looked up at her, brow creased in concern. "And you stitched yourself?"

She smiled humourlessly. "The Organic wasn't an option."

Max thought of the surprised look in the Organic's eyes as he lay in the sand with his throat cut. Max would have given a year's supply of guzz to have done it himself. But someone had beaten him to it, maybe some War Boy who'd taken advantage of the confusion in the pass. He obviously hadn't been popular among his patients. Max would gladly shake that person's hand, even more so now.

He tried to imagine what it must have been like, how every movement of the stitching arm would have opened the wound afresh. What a messy job it would have been, how painful, how lonely. He thought of scars, how they were a visible reminder of a life story, an account of what had made a person who they were. And so...

"It's beautiful. _You're_ beautiful" as he kissed her from her ribs to her breast.

Furiosa was helpless against such a barefaced manoeuvre and could only gasp appreciatively into his hair. "If you like that...I've got others."

"Mmm?" Max inquired, slightly muffled.

"But you got to...find them yourself."

He did. Every one. He read her biography on her skin, with his hands and lips, putting her at peace with the wounds of her past.

*

"So I've shown you mine. Time you showed me yours."

"Well...knee's pretty fucked up..." Max leaned forward to reveal his leg. The moon was bright by now, she saw the extent of the tattoos on his back for the first time and felt a chill. She tilted her head to read... _'high octane universal donor...keep muzzled..."_  

Then she realised, it didn't matter what had been inflicted on her. She still hadn't put to rest the consequences of _her_ actions on others.

She wasn't worthy to touch him. She shivered and drew away.

"Hey...hey..." He reached for her. "Forgot about that. Is it so bad? Seemed to go on forever, but..." He stopped, seeing the paleness of her face, the quiver in her hands. 

" _You know I was a War Boy_." She looked him in the face, daring him to see her as one of his captors. "I'm no better than any of them."

He looked at her long, thoughtfully. Imagining her, white-painted and hollow-eyed. Finally, he nodded.

"Saw a War Boy once, long time ago. I was passing by,  _over there"..._ waving a hand vaguely to the west. "She saved a family from Buzzards. Shot six of 'em. Good shot. Gave 'em food and water. Kept 'em hid."

Furiosa looked up at him in surprise. "What happened to them? Do you know?"

"Got to a safe place. With good people. Reliable."

She kissed his forehead gratefully, then shook her head and laughed under her breath at the absurdity of the universe.

*

"But _you_...bleeding you out..." she looked sick.

"It wasn't you. You didn't do it"

"I did...I might as well have done."

She remembered those _she'd_ captured. How many of those would have become Blood Bags? Too many.

He shrugged. "Only got away 'cos of you. Still be in the cage, else..." He stopped, sighed. This wasn't helping. "If it's that bad, I'll cover it up..." He reached for his shirt. This had the effect he was hoping for.

She smiled through the tears that were threatening... _but she didn't cry, she didn't, ever..._ and pulled the shirt out of his fingers.

"No chance" she reached for him.

"It's you who'll have to look at it, after all" he murmured into her shoulder.

The thought gave her a glow she'd never experienced before. She was driving over unknown roads now, that was certain. _My One...? No...stop, don't ruin this_...Furiosa turned away from that thought like it was something dangerous.

 _Just do what feels right_...

*

It was good to be alive, she thought. It was good to be out here, under the stars, with Max. She'd been busy familiarising herself with every inch of him, every angry scar, every smooth expanse of skin. He'd been at least at half-mast for the last few hours, but now he was quivering with suppressed need. Furiosa's entire body was thrumming with excitement as she crept up to his ear and whispered  _"Again?"_

Just one word, but the tone spoke volumes. He nodded, hesitating how to proceed. She lay back and gently pulled him down on top of her.

*

He ran his tip around the edges of her opening until she begged _"In...please, in."_ She took a slow breath as he eased inside her. This was better...

He took his time...she was surprised and delighted to feel, this time...every long slow thrust...not like when he used his mouth, that was more like fireworks, made her want to gasp and cry out...this was more like a slow, deep, dark, burning excitement, _like velvet night_...until she spasmed against his shoulder, every muscle in her body contracting at once. Barely seconds later she felt him let go and finish with a satisfied groan. "Told you..." she breathed, contentedly.

*

Max and Furiosa returned in time for breakfast. Toots ran up and gave them a big hug each. "Thought you'd gone!"

"Don't be daft, kid" Furiosa replied, handing him a biscuit. "Doesn't miss much" Max observed, when he'd run off again.

"Neither do we – where'd you two scoot off to so suddenly?" asked Phyllis.

"Just a bit of cabin fever. All better now" replied Furiosa, trying to suppress a smile.

*

 _Your star will shine again one day, through deep blue velvet skies_  
_Shine for all the world to see, the universe in your eyes_  
The Stone Roses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Max's 'Saw a War Boy...' story is from "Furiosa Incognita: Part 10 - Rebellion"


	17. Roadrunner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In their quest for a new Green Place, Furiosa and Max hunt the elusive Roadrunner. Max remembers how he used to enjoy being a cop. Furiosa finds she has a new respect for authority. But only when it’s Max, and when he has her in cuffs….  
> …but, being Furiosa, she entirely fails to grasp the concept of sub/dom.
> 
> An increasingly farcical road trip, with the obligatory smutty interlude.

So they’re back _again_ at the Citadel. They’d only been away two days before they’d found a Wasteland orphan. Brought him back with them, got him settled in okay. Apart from their overnight bolt for the hills to dispel a little tension, they’d both been stationary ever since.

But the difference _now_ was…

 _Now_ they have a plan. Just a nascent, budding, invisible-to-the-naked-eye, little embryo of a plan. But one that would _fly_ , with a little help.

They would find a new Green Place. One that they could call home.

It gave hope, it gave purpose. And what was more practically useful right then…it gave them a rock-solid excuse to be on the Road.

Up ‘til now, their determination to drive together had been entirely attributed to their determination to get into each other’s pants. Which was the case, obviously, but the nudging and the winking was getting tiresome. Besides, they did _other_ things while they were away. They weren’t _animals_.

When she’d overheard Toots asking the girls what Dad Max and Mother Fury went away for when it was so nice _here_ …and the embarrassed clearing of throats, and the _‘well…’_ and the giggles...  _Tiresome._

But now…well, they were going away on a quest. _For the greater good_. The Citadel would be filled to capacity someday. They needed to find a sister place to carry the overspill.

*

So Max drew maps from the books in Giddy’s library. Furiosa asked subtle questions of traders and new arrivals. She wondered where the military compound was that Giddy spoke of. If they found it, would it still be guarded? Would they find useful information there?

So they searched and enquired, but came up with a blank. Lots of places they could _try_ , but it would take five lifetimes, just the two of them. And they couldn’t afford to send out multiple search parties.

But then, one day…a family arrived. They’d travelled for weeks after the well in their settlement dried up. Emaciated, dehydrated, weak, they’d taken them in and brought them back to comparative health. A father and young daughter, about thirteen years old. There had been a mother and a little cousin, but they hadn’t made it. The man didn’t talk much, but Cheedo quickly made friends with the daughter. The girl’s gratitude for the care she and her father had been given prompted her to offer up her most cherished possession as payment. It was a book, _Don Quixote_. A man had given it to her when she was a child. She was teaching herself to read, she said. He had told her the story, but she wanted to read it herself. It was the only book she would ever need, because it was so long, it would take her whole life to read it. But she would gladly give it to the kind people who’d taken care of her and her Pa.

Her Pa hadn’t wanted to come, had said it wasn’t safe. People said the warlord was dead and things were different now, but he didn’t believe it. _But they were dying, what did they have to lose?_

But it _was_ safe. They were alive. She was grateful for that. So when Cheedo refused to take her book, and offered to teach her to read, promised others, she swore to be her slave for life. _They didn’t have slaves here_ , Cheedo protested, but she could help if she wanted to.

She could tell of her old home, what lay beyond. She told of the Librarian, who’d said there was water and dark earth out there. He was searching. He would come back for his book when he found it, would show them the way. He’d gone North after he left them.

*

So who was this Librarian? What did he know? They came from the West. He went North from their settlement. Max marked the information on his map.

*****

Two months later, there was an attempted raid on one of their sentry posts. Seven scavengers were rapidly quenched by a party of Citadel Boys led by Althea. A Vuvalini-trained sniper was pretty hot stuff, they knew by now, and there was a long queue of contestants vying for a place on her crew.

The scavengers were taken for questioning, as per Furiosa’s request. She interrogated them herself. _Where did they come from? Where were they going, and why?_ She got very little out of them, not because they were particularly hard to crack, but because they appeared to have very little in the way of a plan. They’d come from the North-East, _just minding their own business_ , and had been robbed, they lamented, by a couple of _highwaymen_.

 _Highwaymen?_ Furiosa telegraphed her question silently to Max, who shrugged.

“Names? Did they tell you who they were?” she asked.

The spokesman thought for a moment. “Dick Turpin and…Tom King, they said.”

A smile was beginning to appear at the corner of Max’s lips, and he coughed quietly.

“One of ‘em threw _knives_ at us. Bloke was a _giant_ ” spoke up one of the scavengers. The spokesman rolled his eyes a little at this, and continued. “Madder than Morgan's mule, they were. Talkin' in riddles, about mountains, and a sacred river, and gardens.”

Max and Furiosa exchanged a glance.

“Zan-a-doo” piped up the exaggerator. “That’s what they said. I heard ‘em.”

“Yeah. Crazy bastards. Didn’t want to mess with them. Maybe catching.”

*

They gave them a bottle of water each and sent them on their way.

So the highwaymen knew something too? North-East.... Max marked it on the map.

*****

They decide it’s time to make a move. Figuring out the approximate times of these sightings, they estimate its worth heading East. They can question people along the way if the opportunity arises.

Their route takes them through Rock Rider territory. They’ve packed plenty of produce and water as a goodwill gift. The bikers are still pretty hacked off about getting their canyon blown up, although the overturned War Rig now serves as their stationary headquarters.

They stop and, once the formalities are past, they camp with them for the night. While Furiosa talks politics with their leader, Max is inveigled into conversation by a small kid who he _thinks_ is a girl, but it’s hard to be sure. She’s been playing with a model of a bird on its hind legs, painted in black and white. It appears to be carved out of soapstone and instead of wings it has what look like flippers. She plays with it like it can’t decide if it wants to hop around or swim through the air. Seeing his interest, she proudly presents her toy to Max.

“S’nice” he nods approvingly. “Got a name?”

“Happyfeet.”

“Hmm. Good name.”

“The Fat Man gave it me.”

“Who’s that?”

“Wearin’ all red. Fuzzy white beard. Big round belly like he’s got the hookworm. Laughed a lot though, so prob’ly not.”

“Oh” is Max’s only response. After a few moments thought, he added “He ask you if you’d been good?”

She nodded.

“You said yes?”

She grinned and nodded. “An’ he had a little man with him. Crinklemouse. His hat jingled.”

This was too much. Had he been out in the sun too long?

“An’…if we were good, they’d come back an’ take us to the South Pole where it’s all green an’ happy.”

That brought Max back to the point. _The Fat Man knows something._

*

“They’re all the same person, right?” Furiosa asked, looking up from a pile of bundles. Max made a noncommittal half-nod, half-head shake.

“I hope so anyway” she continued, packing up the car. “Else every man and his dog knows about the Green Place.”

Max smiled at her antiquated turn of phrase. She could still surprise him.

*****

They carry on, towards the East. Past Gas Town and onwards. It’s almost two weeks before they catch the scent of the man or men that Max has begun to laughingly refer to as ‘Roadrunner’. _Laughingly_ , you heard right.

Furiosa’s seeing a whole new side to him. He’s _enjoying himself_. Enjoying the chase. And it _is_ entertaining, for all that it’s like trying to catch an eel in a bucket.

Like when they actually came within a hairs-breadth of catching them... 

They’d arrived at the tail-end of an altercation between a gang of scavengers and the elusive band of amiable lunatics. It was an unusual sight. Scarred and menacing men, rolling in the dust, scratching at exposed skin like they’d dozed off on an anthill. Another stands next to a heavily-modded vehicle, spikes, skulls and sigils aplenty…standing confusedly staring at his firearm. Something was hanging suspended from the nozzle. It was a flag, yellow with the word ‘BANG!’ picked out in bright red letters.

And a battered VW camper van careered off in a cloud of dust. The only unscathed scavenger pulled the trigger of his handgun in the direction of the departing vehicle, only to be enveloped in a cloud of white powder. Seconds later, he’s scratching himself frantically like his companions.

The man with the beflagged gun looked up at them, mouth agape. He shook his head resignedly. “He _said_ he was a wizard…”

*

The most sense they managed to get out of the traumatised road crew was this…

A small man with a bushy beard had driven into their camp and declared himself to be Thorin Oakenshield, last king of the dwarves. He _was_ pretty short, right enough…

He introduced his friend. Gandalf the Grey, wizard. Also bearded, quite a bit taller, long flowing robe, staff with a knob on the end. They were looking for people to join their quest for a valuable treasure.

After having a laugh at the travelling madmen, who seemed to be unarmed, the would-be bandits produced weaponry from the back of their car and proceeded to rob their victims of their food and water. When they demanded the dwarf’s vehicle, the wizard refused, saying it was powered by spells and wouldn’t be any use to them anyway. He warned the scavengers that they’d regret their lack of hospitality and when their head-man offered to shoot the dwarf in the head, his gun malfunctioned in the spectacular way aforementioned. Looking askance at his still-itchy comrades, he felt he’d got off lightly.

 _What the hell is going on?_ Furiosa mouthed towards Max, who was trying not to laugh and failing.

 _Wizard…?_ She couldn’t shake the idea that this was important somehow. _No, come on…no way._ She shook her head.

But as they departed, it was on the tip of her tongue to give the scavengers some advice, namely… _don’t drink the water_. But she thought better of it. They looked like arseholes anyway.

*****

They continued in the direction the departed van had taken. So they had a wizard to deal with now…

“How’d you think they did it?” Max asked, still chuckling to himself as he drove.

“I could hazard a guess…” she replied, thoughtfully.

Three days later, they found the van. Abandoned. Wheels off and the axles resting on roughly-cut slabs of rock. The windscreen was a spiderweb of shattered glass, the paintwork covered in bullet-holes. No sign of life anywhere. What had happened to them? Had they been attacked and taken, or had they simply found themselves a better ride and moved on?

The trail had gone cold. Furiosa was disheartened, doubly so because of the suspicion _(hope?)_ that she’d been trying to quell and couldn’t yet speak of. The state of the van gave her a sick chill, and the chances of finding their very own Elysium much diminished. But Max looked even more spurred on by this setback. Leaning on the car bonnet, intently arranging his maps (he had several now), he hummed under his breath with a makeshift pen between his teeth. Furiosa watched him curiously, a smile turning up one corner of her mouth. When he took the pen in his hand and began to whistle tunelessly, she sidled up and nudged him with her elbow.

“You’re having _fun_ with this, aren’t you?” she asked, leaning on his shoulder to see what he’d been putting together. Planting a quick kiss behind his ear, of course.

“Yeah…kinda” he admitted sheepishly. Feels like the time had come for a confession. Wait for it…

“Tell me…” _yep, here it comes_ “were you… _are you_ a bounty hunter?” she asked.

“Worse than that...” he looked up at her with an expression of half-laughing alarm. “I was a cop. Highway patrol.”

“Oh. _Oh_.” Furiosa blinked in surprise, both at this news and at her own reaction to it. It wasn’t a reaction becoming of a daughter of the Vuvalini, who were not known for their high opinion of organised authority. But in that second, she saw Max in a badge and uniform _(probably none too clean, it being Max)_ , and she didn’t mind _at all_.

But she made an effort. A low whistle, a disapproving shake of the head. “Good job Keep didn’t know this. She’d never have let us give you her bike.”

“Get in a lot of trouble, did she?”

“Enough” Furiosa nodded. “She had plenty of stories about pigs, anyway” she raised an eyebrow. “Crowd control. Water cannons, tear gas, batons, stop and search. Something about Corpus…”

“Habeas corpus” Max sighed, his chin in his hands.

“That’s it”

“Bad times” Max murmured. “Riots. Looting. Gangs. People panicking. Cops panicking. All breaking…”

“You tried to hold it together…”

“Tried. For a long time. Then…couldn’t do it anymore. Never thought I’d end up being bad cop…” His eyes took on that look that Furiosa hadn’t seen since the War Rig. Like he was seeing things that weren’t there, at least not to anyone else’s vision.

“Hey…look at me” she lifted his head with her good hand. He tried to focus on her face. “I don’t know what rules there were in the City, but _out here_ …you’re good cop. Okay?”

He nodded gratefully, and touched his forehead against hers like it was a protective talisman against the past.

*

They drove out of sight of the abandoned vehicle. It wasn’t safe to linger near such a target for the attention of scavengers. They camped up a short distance off, as evening set in. After food and a mug of Phyl’s special cheering-up tea _(she never would say what was in it, but it lived up to its name…)_ , Furiosa was feeling pretty comfortable, head resting against Max’s thigh.

Generations of cultural memory whispered to her that she was about to commit a terrible sin. _A massive cliché_. But what did originality or pride matter when there was an irresistible urge to follow?

Max had learned to read her unconscious movements, her mannerisms. She wanted to say something, wanted to badly, but couldn’t quite frame the sentence. He waited, slightly anxiously. Then it came out…

She looked up at him, trying to look arch and knowing, but only just managing ‘coy and mildly embarrassed’. “So, you going to arrest me or what?” she asked, raising one eyebrow. She sat up, and held both hands up. “I’ll come quietly, officer.”

A snort of laughter. A knowing smile. “Doubt it…” he returned, rummaging in the mess down the side of the driver’s seat.

She paused, confused. Then rolled her eyes. _“Pup.”_ Furiosa had spent her teenage years as a War Boy and her double entendres were consequently quite specialised. She couldn’t hear the words _sparkplug, flange_ or _blowback_ without a dirty cackle. To which Max would look blankly, while Phyllis and Althea would shake their heads despairingly.  And _their_ innuendoes would always take a few seconds to register with Furiosa, which they found _hilarious_ …especially when she walked right into them, like in this case.

Max cleared his throat, brows lifted in mute enquiry. In his hands he held a length of lightweight chain. “No cuffs. This do?”

“You’re the professional” she returned, with hands on hips and a challenging look. Permission granted.

With speed that took Furiosa by surprise, Max had looped the chain into a lariat and secured her good hand, wrapping the longer loose end tightly round her prosthetic. She smiled knowingly to herself. It’d take her as little time to get out of that, but she was interested to see where this would end up.

“What are the charges, Mr Policeman? Being a Bad Girl?” she craned her neck to look at him half-defiantly.

“That’s Officer Rockatansky to you. No, ma’am…” he said in a low voice, right by her ear, _which for some unaccountable reason gave her a pleasing shiver down her spine._ “That, in itself, is not an offence. I’m arresting you for dangerous driving, incitement to cause a riot, carrying a concealed weapon with intent to injure, and…” _he thought for a moment._ “…being indecently dressed.”

She made an enquiring sound of surprise, which instantly became a gasp of outraged indignation as the buttons of her shirt flew in response to his quick tug. “Ohhh, you cheeky…” Unable to find words, she instead chose to use physical means to express herself. Distracting him with a neck-twisting kiss, she gripped his cock _quite tightly_ with her good hand. They were the same height, and her hands were conveniently tied behind her. That got his attention. And after a moment’s consideration, she manoeuvred her prosthetic so that she could cup his balls.

After his initial startlement _(because it’s alarming to find your scrotum in the grasp of a metal hand you’d previously seen crush bone)_ , he breathed again and broke away from the kiss to mutter reproachfully, “Don’t you ever behave?” “Never” she replied, hoarsely, kissing him again.

Max felt the need to reassert himself. He was supposed to be in charge in _this particular scenario_ but it certainly wasn’t panning out that way. He pulled at her open shirt, kissing her exposed shoulder, up her neck and the _coup de grace_ , a nibble at the ear. Feeling her shiver under his mouth, he drifted his left hand towards her breast, still concealed by one of the bra-like items the women formerly known as the Milk Mothers now manufactured. Furiosa’s was a no-nonsense khaki that Max thought had more sex appeal on her than any of the more _fanciful_ variations he’d ever seen. Though if she were to try anything more…fanciful…

In response to this private mental image, Max nibbled along her shoulder, provoking her to writhe against him with a groan and grip him hard. Encouraged, he ghosted his right hand down her ribs to her waistband. _She nodded violently_ , so with one quick movement he unbuckled her belt and slipped his hand between her skin and the rough fabric of her trousers. They both pretty much fell to pieces from that point onwards.

Her foot resting on the car bumper to allow him greater access and in defiance of restricted movement, she worked her good arm into a passable rhythm. Though it _was_ increasingly challenging…the positive feedback of every stroke rendered his fingers jerky and spasmodic, which in turn affected her own motor control. In short, it wasn’t a graceful climax for either of them. More enthusiasm than elegance, you might say.

When they slumped into the dust, Furiosa released a deep breath. “Well, I feel pretty pacified. Well done, Officer.”

Max stopped pulling at his trousers, now a warm sticky mess, and looked towards his erstwhile prisoner. She was reclining back, comfortably free of chains, with her head on her hands. She shrugged apologetically in response to his enquiring quirk of eyebrow. “Definitely need to get cuffs” he sighed, wondering how he could construct a set in the Citadel without anyone noticing. “They’d come in handy, y’know… _generally_.”

“Hmmm, that could be done…” Furiosa smiled, considering the many possibilities.

*

They'd gone a few hundred yards on their way before Furiosa slammed on the brakes. "Fuck...!" spluttered Max, who'd been engrossed in his maps, and had had to brace himself against the passenger door frame. 

"Sorry, sorry...! But...where's the van? It was back  _there_ , yesterday, wasn't it?." Max craned his neck to look back. There was nothing there but tyre marks. 

Furiosa looked at Max. He was grinning again. The chase was on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crinklemouse.  
> If you haven't seen the Saturday Night Live sketch "Christmas Miracle", here's the link. Not ideal for March, but I'm happy to bet you'll laugh till you HURT.  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lo8ZgNws504
> 
> Dick Turpin and Tom King. I just really like 'Far from the Madding Crowd'.  
> https://books.google.co.uk/books?id=5u8Libdf_CoC&pg=PT69&lpg=PT69&dq=%22far+from+the+madding+crowd%22+dick+turpin&source=bl&ots=w1FcyaywxA&sig=4-rtNVamnRvzolE79WANabny97Q&hl=en&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwj46OODwbDUAhVlK8AKHcLUDD44ChDoAQgeMAE#v=onepage&q=%22Far%20from%20the%20madding%20crowd%22&f=false
> 
> The reference to a military compound is from 'Up Around the Bend', the last chapter of the prequel series.  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/9700868
> 
> 'Zan-a-doo' is a nod to Kubla Khan. Unless I'm pronouncing it wrong.
> 
> All the Roadrunner's tricks are lifted from (surprise, surprise) "The Sacred Art of Stealing" by Christopher Brookmyre.
> 
> The tune Max is whistling (badly) is 'Police and Thieves' by Junior Murvin. Here's the bit off 'Lock Stock and Two Smoking Barrels'  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lb7Vh37bSqE
> 
> 'Madder than Morgan's mule...', okay it WAS 'madder than a cut snake', but that might just as well mean angry, so I thought sod it, just go with Terry Pratchett. Any suggestions welcome.


	18. Stop That Train

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ace trying to get his head around what the fuck just happened.
> 
> (This is not in chronological order, but we can't forget Ace, so here's his Fury Road POV)

He doesn't know how, but the wheels of the pursuit vehicle spectacularly fail to crush the life out of him. It's like he's spent his half-life practicing how not to die, and now he's an expert. But it's not over yet, he's on the edge of a sandstorm that'll shred him one tiny piece at a time. He tears a strip of his black trousers and wraps it round his nose and mouth as best he can to save himself from the choking, abrasive air. Taking advantage of the last light, he spots a decent-sized rock nearby and crouches leeward of the storm. He waits...eyes tightly shut and his hands over his ears to block the deafening screams. _Is that the wind, or the voices of those being flung to Valhalla?_

While the storm lasted, the howling hell that flew around him occupied the whole of his attention. But as it abated, conscious thoughts began to demand his notice.  _Punched in the face and thrown to his death by his brother-in-arms?_ What's more, his Boss? A War Party on their tail? And he's pretty fucking sure it's not a training run. What has she done? Why'd she do it? And why the fuck didn't she keep him in the loop? He doesn't know what side he should be on. It's only in the last few moments that he's realised there is _more than one side._ He needs time to think... 

Ace huddled with his back to the rock, to find shade and stay out of sight. He was Furiosa's second. If they were chasing her, they were chasing him too. What had happened to Caleb? Ace needed to find him. But first, rest a little. His head was ringing, his mouth bleeding from the blow. _Her blow_. The one that had sent him flying. 

No point passing out under the blazing sun for Buzzards to scavenge. Bastards. If it wasn't for them...she might have been about to tell him what was up. But she knocked him off the Rig. Not the actions of someone who was about to brief their right-hand man any time soon. He was angry, hurt to the quick, but part of him trusted her still. He'd never known her to hurt anyone without a bloody good reason.  

She'd deserted...with the Rig. He couldn't even begin to imagine a reason good enough for that enormity. Joe would tear her to pieces for this...he _will_ if can catch her up. Speed is the key. So no time for explanations? Ace's reasoning was going round and round in circles, making himself dizzy. 

As the War Party screamed past, Ace kept his head down. Joining them was unthinkable. Finally, silence.  

What now? Go back? He'd tried to get up, but his head swam and he dropped back down again. They were all on a mad chase to the East and he was left behind in the dust. He could have helped...he should be there. But the question kept screaming at him, through the confusing fog of suspicion and anger – _helped_ _who_ _?_ He, her loyal second, had grabbed her by the throat. "What have you done?" he'd yelled, just before she'd smashed him in the face. What would he have done if he was still on the Rig? Would he still be her second? Or would he be fighting to take the Rig back to his Immortan? Fighting her...? He made a third attempt to get to his feet... 

Ace passed out. Next thing he knew, hands were shaking him back to consciousness. A panicked voice. "Ace, Ace. What the fuck's happening? They've all gone. All of 'em, every fucking one. Never seen anythin' like it." 

It's Caleb. He's alright. 

* 

They made it to high ground and watched the War Party return, the Doof Warrior playing a dirge. Who was dead? Ace felt sick. But if they were after Furiosa's blood, it would be a triumphant yell if she had fallen. Must've been someone else, someone Joe would mourn. Rictus, maybe? No, there he was. Not hard to spot, even from a distance. What were they doing? Looked like they were making camp. So Ace and Caleb did the same. No food or water, but they were still alive. That counted as success in Ace's book.

*

They woke to the sound of 'War Rig!' followed by the grinding chords of the Doof. They were moving out? Yes, that was the Rig in the distance! It was heading back they way they'd come! What the hell were they planning? Were they trying to beat the War Party to it? This was fuckin' messed up...

And as the War Party sped off in a cloud of dust, all Ace and Caleb could do was follow. Slow, on foot, in the desert. Short of finding a functional ride and driving back, it was Shanks Pony for them. Fuck, _this_ was how they were going to die after all...

*

They walked. After a night and a day, they found Taggy, Dek and a few others. Taggy had landed soft when the Buzzards JCB blew, and Dek had been thrown off when Elvis got flipped by that Buzzard trap. They'd followed the Rig after they'd been thrown, and had both made it as far as the canyon. It was good to see them. But there were others, those from the War Party. The canyon had been blocked by...was that the War Rig? Ace felt a chill. He hunted in the wreckage for her but, they could find nobody. There was a War Boy, dead, close to the wreckage. They witnessed him, buried him under stone. He looked familiar to Ace. Just before he'd been knocked from the Rig, had he been there? That didn't make much sense, but nothing did anymore

Ace and the small party of War Boys made the long walk back to the Citadel. They'd found some water lying by. Strange, maybe dropped by the War Party as it passed? He wonders what had happened to the others. He thought they'd have trouble with the bunch of die-hards who wanted to shred Furiosa for what she'd done. But they must have decided to go to Gas Town instead. He wonders who it was who'd grabbed him in the night. It'd been good to hear Furiosa had made it back, safe. The Immortan was dead, so she wouldn't get shredded. That was the main thing. But, fuck, he was still going to have words...

He was apprehensive but strangely hopeful. How would she receive him? She'd obviously decided she couldn't trust him. She had allied herself with the Wives, these otherworldly creatures. How could she still be the same person? But despite his trepidation, his alienation, he still had to go back. The Citadel was home, no matter how changed he would find it. There was nowhere else. Okay, that wasn't true. There was Gas Town and the Bullet Farm. But that would be declare his allegiance elsewhere. He was a Citadel Boy in the blood, always had been. And, despite everything, it still lay with her. Besides, she had been his friend, his little brother once.  

It was a silent walk back, at least for Ace. Caleb, who couldn't keep quiet for two seconds, had gone to  join the others, and they chattered away, speculating on how things would turn out... 

* 

They had told him, the Boys from the Immortan's War Party, that the Wives had been taken. That Furiosa had stolen them. 

That was unexpected. It...changed things. He needed to re-evaluate everything. Think back, try to view his memories through the lens of this new information. 

She was always paranoid, afraid, hiding. She hid that she was female for as long as she could. But then refused to go under the Organic's knife to rectify the problem. That was what other female War Pups did. She would go nowhere near the Organic. Would do anything to avoid the Blood Shed. And then this rumour that she'd been a Wife. He'd never believed that...she'd been too young anyway, that first day when she'd broken his jaw in the Pits. But then she was tall...it was only apparent that she was still a Pup when you saw her close up. But she didn't look like Wife material. Granted, the trappings of a War Pup were just about polar opposite to what he imagined a Wife would look like, even one in training.

She would kill anyone who touched her without permission...in that way anyway...and she never granted permission, as far as he could see. 

When she got promoted and took the name 'Furiosa', he became 'she', proper. Ace had always stumbled over the female pronoun before that, but it was alright to use it now. But she was still _tense_ , always looking over her shoulder. It was only after she came back from the Vault that first time...the much-derided Wife-guarding duty...that she didn't seem afraid anymore. Ace didn't understand any of this... 

Had she taken the Wives against their will? No, the returning crew had specifically said the Splendid One had used her own body to shield her. They had spat as they said this, and declared all females would traitor, given the chance.  

So they had _wanted to leave_. And she helped them to. She had to be leaving too...she could hardly come back after a stunt like that. 

 _They were escaping..._  

Some said she'd been rejected from the Vault – her missing arm had labelled as her tainted. He would understand if she was angry, bitter...but not the _fear._  

A treacherous voice had kept whispering to him... _maybe she hadn't wanted to be the_ _Immortan's_ _Wife?_  

Now it looked like that this seditious thought was on the money after all. 

***** 

Ace and the others were met by a gaggle of Pups, seemingly led by a dignified-looking desert woman and a walking bundle of aggression in the form of a diminutive Wife in white gauze. They were both packing weapons with practiced ease, though the younger one's cool stance was partly a front, Ace could see.  The older one, now...she looked like she could take down ten War Boys in the blink of an eye. 

"Declare your allegiance!" the younger one demanded, nostrils flaring.  

"We're here to serve Furiosa" Ace sighed wearily, hands in the air, then muttered under his breath, "Do we look like an invasion force...?"  

"Right enough" the older one nods, noting their injuries and general downtrodden-ness. "Give them water, food" she gestured to the Pups towards the direction of the Citadel. The younger one demurred, clearly not liking the look of them. _We need allies_ is all the reply she receives. 

* 

"Where is she?" Ace keeps asking. No answer. He's afraid now. "I thought she was in charge" he persisted.  

"She is" the Wife snaps. "She's just resting." 

Resting? That was a first. _Time enough to rest when you're dead,_ she'd always said. 

She'd led him to the refectory, handed him food and water. Just a mouthful of water, that's all he needed. "Take me to her" he demanded. 

"Why should I? Who are _you_ , anyway?"  

"Ace. Her second. On the Rig. Take me to her. If she isn't dead already." 

Other women had gathered by now. They looked at each other uncertainly. 

"I'll go" another Wife offers. It's a skinny one this time, with white hair. Looks like you could knock her down with a sneeze. "See if she's awake anyway. If she can see visitors." 

* 

Ace waited, uncomfortably, feeling the hostility around him. Was this a mistake? No. He had to see if she was alive, to see who she was now. Then he'd decide. He could hear them whispering. 

He ate a little more while he was waiting, though he felt he'd as like to choke on it. By the time the skinny Wife came back, he was practically climbing the walls. He jumped to his feet as she approached, his anxiety showing in his face, because she explained half-defensively, half-apologetically, "She was asleep. I wasn't going to wake her." _Relief_. "You can come up now." 

* 

The Vault. He'd never been inside before, apart from six days ago, when he'd supervised the removal of the Statue to the loading bay. 

Then it dawned on him. He'd carried the _Wives_ out of the Vault. They were in that fucking statue. He'd thought it was bloody heavy. He should be livid, being used like that. If he'd been a disinterested observer, he'd have just grinned at the brass neck of the thing. But he wasn't. She'd fucked him over, used him. Used them all. He had to remember that, stay mad. It was the resentment that had kept him going these past few days, he told himself. 

These were his thoughts as he limped into the Vault. And they disappeared like dust in the wind when his eyes lit on the narrow bed. It wasn't the injuries, and they were bad enough. Ribs strapped, eye swollen and blind, left shoulder torn and bruised by V8 knew what.  

It was the look of relief at the sight of him...in fever-bright eyes that couldn't seem to meet his. Then she seemed to pull herself together and tried to sit up. Clearly a mistake, judging from the way she blanched in response to the pain. The skinny Wife and another older woman with braided hair supported her and propped her up with a pillow. She looked her thanks to both of them and asked, "Can you leave us alone?" 

"What? No...Furiosa..." the Wife objected, but Furiosa interrupted her. "He won't hurt me. It's safe. Really." 

The two women departed, reluctantly. A moment's silence. He had to break it, it was too painful. "You seem very sure about that" he grunted, drily. Then he wished he hadn't. She replied, faintly. " _I'm not_...if you want to kill me, go ahead. I owe you that, at least." Then she looked him in the face. "I'm glad you...made it home okay." 

He was glad she didn't say _I_ _'m sorry_.  

* 

"You took the Wives, and you took the Rig. And you didn't trust me." 

"If I had...what would you have done?" It wasn't a rhetorical question. He could see she didn't know. She _assumed_ he would have stopped her, that much was obvious from her actions, but she didn't _know_. Neither did he. Ace sighed and slumped down by the wall. He couldn't stand upright under the weight of that question. Besides, he preferred to be on her level. 

"I always wondered what was going on with you. You were always so ...careful...all the time." He looked up at her intently. " _Were_ you...? no...you were just a Pup." He shook his head incredulously and looked around the grandly furnished room. 

"A Wife? Nearly. But for this." She waved her stump wearily. "And a lot of help. Ace...I wanted to tell you. I nearly told you, back then..." She beat her good fist weakly against the covers. "Too risky." Furiosa shrugged, wearily. _Same story then,_ _same_ _story six days ago._  

* 

Furiosa untwined the black scarf from her throat. "Take this...it's yours now." 

"What...? You _have_ lost your mind. You don't want to be Imperator now, either?" 

"Imperators don't sell out their crew." 

"Maybe they _shouldn't_ , but we've known plenty that did. Not quite like _this_ , but..." He realigned his thoughts "But what they _don't_ do, is apologise for it afterwards." 

"It should've been you anyway..." 

"I'm not taking it. As if you'd take orders from me, anyway." 

"I would..." The tears were flowing fast now, as Ace adjusted himself to let her rest her head on his shoulder. 

"It's alright..." He soothed. She shook her head wearily. "Caleb's here too, and Dek...and those soupy young'uns you got too pissed to ride out. Yeah, I know what you were up to" he added, as she lifted her head.  "So tell me...I've figured out most of it by now. Had coupla days in the desert to think it out. But who was the smeg with the voice like a boot full of gravel? Told me you were in charge now. Had a knife to my throat at the time, but no hard feelings. Where'd you pick him up?" 

"Fool? Where'd you see him?" Furiosa sat upright in surprise and slumped back down again. It was an indulgence she couldn't afford right then. 

"That his name? Out by the Rig. In the canyon. I wonder if he knows anything about Axle and his lot. Seemed bloody convenient it was only your mates that came back..." Ace mused. 

"So he went back East? Wonder why..." She was a healthier colour now, Ace noticed. That'd perked her up. So he continued that line of conversation.  

"Not the chatty type, I reckon...?" he probed. "But no Fool, I'd say." 

"His name's Max" Furiosa looked up, looked him in the face. " _He gave me his blood."_ Which indeed seemed to be rising at the sound of his name. 

"Wait...not that poor bastard of a bloodbag? Phew...it's a wonder he had any left in him." 

As her brow furrowed anxiously, he added hurriedly. "But he was fighting fit when I ran into him. No problem with his night vision. Or his knife arm either..." Ace shivered a little. The feral should be dead, by the sound of it, not running around in the dark picking off Furiosa's enemies. "Hmph. Glad he's on our side" he grumbled. And there you go. _Their side_. As if there had been any doubt. 

Furiosa butted her head against his ear affectionately. "Our side" she echoed, with a suppressed sob and sniff. 

"Ah...dry yer eyes...goin' soft..." Ace huffed. 

She smiled against his shoulder and squeezed his hand. 

"And quit your yapping. I need some shut-eye...all the shit you've put me through..." He grumbled as  he carefully manoeuvred her into a comfortable recumbent position and settled down on his side next to her. She was already asleep by the time he nodded off, her hand gripping his. 

* 

He awoke to find the gun-toting woman from the sentry patrol sitting by the door, knitting.  

"Wondered when you'd wake up. Guess you've had a rough coupla days too?" 

He sat up carefully, which was difficult since Furiosa still grasped his right hand tightly in her sleep. Failing to find a tenable sitting position, Ace gave up and lay down again. _Oh well,_ _there_ _goes dignity._ "You could say that. Mainly puzzling things out." 

"That and the exposure and no food or water..." The woman raised an eyebrow. "Name's Althea. And you're Ace, right?" He nodded. "Her right hand man?" He nodded, with a sigh. He couldn't summon the energy to correct her with the tired old joke, _Left hand man._   

"She's glad to see you well..." 

"Will she be alright?" He asked. "She's pretty bashed up." 

"Think she's proud of those battle scars" Althea nodded, "But she'd be worm food but for the boy. Glad he's fighting fit, as you say. Was kind of worried. So was she." Althea nodded to the sleeping figure. "Thanks for the intel. It's done her good." 

"Hmph" Ace grunted. It was his happy sound. But..."Hang on...were you in here the whole time?" 

She shrugged. "Just checking you weren't planning to do our girl any harm." Seeing the look on his face, she raised her hands appealingly. "Come on, would you have done any different?"  

Seeing him relent, she continued. "Any sign of the young 'un? One of yours...all white." Ace looked blank. "He was the one who tipped the Rig, took out the Big Boy."  

Ace shook his head. "Who was it? What was his name?" 

"Nux." 

"Ah." Ace wished he had his hand free, but satisfied himself with a whispered _Witness_. 

"Guess he's done for. Shame. For the little ranga's sake, most of all." 

"Who?" 

"Hm..." Althea let out an amused chuckle and waved a needle at Ace's head. "Forgot you fellas don't have much truck with hair. Capable. Red hair. Goggles." 

"One of the Wives?" Ace gaped at her. 

"Not any more. Merry Widows, maybe. Don't know what they're calling themselves now." 

Just then, Furiosa shifted in her sleep, murmured something they didn't quite catch and loosened her grip on Ace's hand. Althea smiled. "Ready for some breakfast? I think you and me should compare notes." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Stop that train, I want to get on, My baby, she is leaving me now...She said, 'My dear I do love you, no matter what they say or do'"
> 
> https://youtu.be/JnQTGNcNpI4  
> Courtesy of Keith and Tex
> 
> Of course Ace isn't dead. Who kills off Ace? Okay, some people have, but not many. Despite the misleading 'baby', we're strictly platonic here.
> 
> Just re-reading my own stuff. Might have fucked up a bit. Max 'buried the kid'. Ace found a War Boy, witnessed him, buried him under stone. Right...I can't decide who gets to bury Nux, so I'll just point out my own error and leave it at that.


	19. Going Underground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A development threatens to disrupt the fledgling relationship. Much soul-searching ensues. An unexpected encounter sparks memories. Shit happens, probably.

_Some people might say my life is in a rut_  
_But I'm quite happy with what I got_  
_People might say that I should strive for more_  
_But I'm so happy I can't see the point_

 _...And the public wants what the public gets_  
_But I don't get what this society wants_  
_I'm going underground (going underground)_  
_Well the brass bands play and feet start to pound_  
_Going underground (going underground)_  
_So let the boys all sing and the boys all shout for tomorrow_

          Sergiy the Mushroom Farmer

                     https://youtu.be/AE1ct5yEuVY  

*

 _It had been so perfect_ , she thought. Funny how you only truly appreciate something when it's over. 

They’d spent the last three months driving side by side on the open Road, dealing with those they’d encountered along the way. He had her back and she had his, and they both knew each other so well in a way that barely needed words. This was what she’d been lacking in the days and months after the takeover of the Citadel. And the long lonely years before that. Someone who _understood_. Mothers, she would miss this… 

They’d curled up together at nights, they’d solaced themselves in each other, and they’d _talked_. In their own way, at least.  

But there were so many things they still hadn’t talked about. After the mysterious disappearance of the not-quite-derelict vehicle, Furiosa had told him what she knew of her father. His role in the discovery of the Citadel and how he had briefly met her mother in the Green Place while evading Joe’s wrath. How he was almost certainly alive and driving a tricked-out camper van in company with an unknown number of allies, one of whom was notably shorter than most. Namely, the Roadrunner. That had been an animated conversation, and one which had added an extra layer to Max’s interest in tracking down this elusive individual. 

On his side, on another occasion, Max had haltingly told, in broken sentences, of Jessie; how she’d played in a jazz band and loved the sea. And how she’d been mown down, clutching their child, by a road gang seemingly as brutal and addled as any she’d ever taken on as War Boy or Imperator. She’d always known the Mothers had left the city for good reasons, one of which was to avoid gangs like these who seemed to revel in the collapse of society. Despite this, Furiosa had clung to an image of a city where people were somehow better than that. But then this wasn’t Before, not really. Not a different time, just a different location. 

So they had both shared a lot during these precious months on the Road. They both had a way of asking questions that would have received a blank wall if asked by others.  

“So, Max…how would you feel about being a dad again?” 

That was the question she couldn’t bring herself to ask. 

* 

Despite her best efforts in her teenage years to starve herself into a perpetually prepubescent state, she’d proved to be irritatingly regular in her bleeds once they’d begun at fifteen. It had been two months since the last one. The sickness had been mild, compared to the stories she’d been told. Besides, she could pass it off jokingly…she was a soft Citadel resident, after all, not a feral who could eat any damn thing. She’d blamed it on a bad lizard the first week, but that would only pass for so long… 

If it was real, and not the long-awaited growths she’d expected to get like the rest of her Barracks companions, then…she’d have to return. The child would belong to the New Citadel, to join the new society they were building. Healthy babies were still painfully few, and this one would be the first new Vuvalina by blood. Even if it was a boy, it would be one of theirs. She’d seen the clan reduced to three, and she would try to give one back if she could. 

Thanks to Giddy and Lyra, and the twist of fate that had lost her her arm as a kid, she’d never had to contemplate her own fertility. These months with Max had certainly made her consider the possibility, but…what then? It’s only been in the last month that she felt they were almost in a place where they could talk about it…and by then it was already too late. 

She had to go back, now there was something she knew she could give. But Max didn’t owe the Mothers anything. He had no reason to make the Citadel his home. _He had her_ …a voice whispered. _And he would have his child…if it lived_. But that was the crux of it all. Could he do that again? Could she even ask him to? 

If this meant she would lose him…then it’s a sacrifice she’d have to make.  

***** 

 _Max hadn’t much been one for planning the future. But ever since_ _Furiosa_ _had returned his kiss…and the blissful series of events that had followed (it still felt like it must have all been a dream, that all this would disappear in a moment of wakening)…he had been forced to consider the possibility of this happening. It was like taking a knife and slicing into half-healed scar tissue, but it was necessary. What if…? It was unthinkable…until it wasn’t. The whole world, his world, was so very different to what it had been. Unrecognisable. Like a different time, a different universe altogether. He had already seen and heard and felt_ _Furiosa_ _dying in his arms, and that hadn’t driven him away for long. Maybe he was stronger now. He didn’t feel stronger. When he forced himself to think of losing_ _Furiosa_ _, or their child, his brain recoiled in horror._  

 _He tortured himself with these ideas, night after night in his car. Testing himself, forcing himself to run. She would die. Their children would die. And he would watch and be powerless to stop it. Again. But still he stayed. It was strange, though, how his nightmares were different now, despite everything he was doing to stir them up from the darkest corners of his brain. Maybe it was being near her that did it._  

 _He dreamed of Jessie, and of_ _Sprog_ _. But there was no horror, no blood. Just memories. Things he’d long forgotten were weaving themselves back into the ravelled fabric of his memory. He began to feel…perhaps…that if he had to go through it all again, he would. Without a moment’s hesitation. They were so precious, those times he’d shared with them. Those months of gut-clenching dread and the horror that had followed…even that didn’t weigh against the life he had had before, albeit briefly. He thought, maybe, he could go through it all again._  

 _“Better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all”. Max thought people who glibly trotted out those sort of platitudes should be sliced thinly from the feet up.. But that didn't mean he didn't believe it might be a little bit true.._  

***** 

Capable had been discovered in a flood of bittersweet tears one day, crumpled up in the corner of the Vault annexe. It was just after Max came back with Nux’s wheel. She wouldn’t talk to anyone, not even her sisters, and it was only after a whispered conference between Toast and Cheedo that anyone began to glean an inkling of what was _really_ the matter.  Toast admitted that she’d seen Capable and her War Boy creep off to the Rig that night they’d camped with the Vuvalini. Toast had almost stopped her then…she was appalled at the idea that anyone who’d just escaped one schlanger would welcome the advances of another. But Cheedo, ever the romantic, had insisted that… _no, this was different_. They all blessed the twist of fate that had meant Capable had bled just before they’d escaped. So it _couldn’t_ be Joe's. 

So she was left with a reminder of her lost Boy. They thought of how she’d reacted when the last traces of hope evaporated. They’d been unable to send anyone to the wreck, despite the unspoken anguish in her eyes. They had to defend themselves, to establish allies and secure their hold on the Citadel. She must have suspected then…poor girl. But she had always longed for a child of her own and, if this one lived, it would certainly be loved. 

* 

Dag and Capable…one hating, the other loving, the dead father of their baby.  Dag taking her child to her heart in defiance of Joe, and Capable clinging to hers in grieving memory of her lost War Boy. Seeing in his little face his father’s features, something Dag had sworn _she_ would never do. How could that tiny, startlingly perfect baby girl look like that blistered and broken down old bastard anyway? 

Furiosa imagined herself as a mother among them, and Max gone, bolted. Could she bear it? Of course. She had borne grief, violence, pain and humiliation time and time again, and this wouldn’t break her. She would be making an undoubted contribution to the New Citadel, something she’d struggled to find a way to accomplish to her satisfaction. They had her gun, her leadership, and her strategic nous. But they weren’t _needed_ , not really. The Vuvalini, both old and adopted, had formed a working concord with Ace and his Boys. The Wretched were now the People, many of whom were offering their hands and heads to the new society. She _knew_ it was selfish to want to leave. She could have been _of use_ , she knew. But it wasn’t enough to keep her there. Now she felt she had something to give, at least something she couldn’t bring herself to withhold. It didn’t make any sense to bring up a child on the Road when the Citadel was there to embrace it anyway. She wouldn’t let her mind dwell on what it would be like if Max stayed…she couldn’t afford to give that thought a chance to germinate and grow. It would be too painful to tear it out. 

***** 

 _So that was it...Hadn't he seen most of it before, what felt like lifetimes ago? The sickness and sporadic loss of appetite would have worried him, if it wasn't for the other signs. He'd only ever seen her cry once before, when she finally faced the certainty that Val was dead. So to find her silently shedding tears while hunched under the car bonnet was an uncommon occurrence. Of course, she blamed it on a gritty gust of wind._  

 _But why hadn't she told him? A malicious little voice whispered that she hadn't really wanted him, just what he could give her. The thought buzzed around his head briefly, but was promptly swatted when he saw the reason on her face when she thought he wasn't looking. She was afraid he would run._  

 _She had talked of what she owed to the last of the_ _Vuvalini_ _, how she had to make reparations for their losses. He understood, at least partly. God knows, he understood guilt. But that hadn't been all.. She would sink into his touch, but then withdraw, as if closeness with him was something she had to get used to being without. It was only in hindsight that these hints became plain to see…_  

 _This wall of silence was threatening to crush her, that was clear.  If she was just afraid of losing him, he would have to speak. But it wasn't one of Max's strong points. Just 'I know', that would be enough._  

*****

These were his thoughts as they sped along, Furiosa chewing a fingernail as she stared blankly out the passenger window. Max took a deep breath... 

"Furi, can I...?" he began, turning to look at her. She was still staring out the window, but her body language was now charged with excitement. "What is it?" he asked, craning his neck to see.  

"Max...does that look like a military compound to you?” She turned to him with eyes shining. It wasn't quite the Holy Grail, but it might hold the key to finding it. 

* 

They pulled up cautiously by the perimeter fence. Initially it seemed that the posts were manned but with strangely immobile sentries. Closer inspection showed that they were mounted with the long-dead, in uniform, holding sticks fashioned to look like guns. No sign of life anywhere.  

Furiosa takes her boltcutters from the car and they proceed to the fence, where she cuts a hole in the chainlink. They climb through and advance cautiously, eyes scanning the low concrete buildings.  _Silence_. The place genuinely looks deserted.  

' _Ping'_ A cloud of dust erupts by Max's foot. ' _Ping, ping'_ a little to the left. He grabs Furiosa and they dive for cover behind the remains of a tumbledown concrete wall. They wait, tense, assessing the situation. Max takes a shiny piece of metal from a pocket, uses it as a mirror. Trying to see who's shooting at them. Not a great shot, by the look of it. A voice screams at them from a distance, from the direction of the shots. It's an old guy, waving a pellet gun. Yelling imprecations at them in an incomprehensible language. But it sounds strangely familiar to Max... 

 _"_ _Chort_ _tebe_ _bery_ _,_ _zlodiys'ki_ _vyrodky_ _!"_  

Max sat back abruptly, frowning. He rubbed his hand over his eyes. _"_ _Dyad'ko_ _Maksym?_ _"_ he whispers, to himself.  

"What?" Furiosa stares at him. "What's he saying? Do you know?" 

Max is pale under layers of grit, staring back at Furiosa like he doesn't know where he is. "Max? Just breathe, it's okay..." He blinks, shakes his head as if to clear away a fog. And he gives a quick laugh, he _smiles_ at her albeit confusedly. "I'd forgotten..." he murmurs. 

"Do you understand what he's saying? The man who's shooting at us? Max?" 

"Um...he wants us to go away...that's for sure" 

"I got that." Furiosa looked a little exasperated. "Could you speak to him? He looks like he's alone. Negotiate?" 

Max took a deep breath, rolled his eyes. "I can't remember how to say much...better at understanding it. Don't know how to say ' _we come in peace'"_

"Well, give it a try anyway."

"Okay..." Max turned slightly and yelled at the top of his voice. _"_ _Meni_ _patribno_ _kakashky_ _!"_  

The old man stopped yelling and stood still for a moment. Then he waved his arm, beckoning expansively. 

"It worked! That's the 'come in' gesture! What'd you say to him?" 

"I asked him if I could use his toilet." 

"What?" 

"It's the first thing that came to mind"  

"He's still waving at us. He actually looks quite happy about it. Shall we go?" 

 _"Tse_ _dobre_ _dlya_ _hrybiv_ _!"_  

Furiosa looked expectantly at Max. "Um. I might have misheard that. He says it's good for...the mushrooms?" 

She thought for a moment and made a wry face. Furiosa had quite liked mushrooms before now. Max took her hand and pulled her to her feet. “Come on, do we want to get in there or not?" 

* 

His name was Sergiy and he was alone here. He lived underground and grew mushrooms to stay alive. And he didn't mind this, because he was completely blind. 

He'd been the commissary whenever the compound had been raided by the white men. His vision had been clouding for some time, and the others knew it. He was afraid, because they weren't the same people that they had been before the system fell. He knew they wouldn't tolerate a freeloader in their midst, and that's what he would be if they knew he was useless to them. So he didn't come running when he heard the shooting, the shouts. He stayed in the darkness, where he felt safe. No-one came for him. The raiders took what they wanted and left. 

That had been fifteen years ago. He'd survived in the darkness better than anyone else could, because it was home to him now. And he knew how to grow mushrooms. The only limiting factor was that he was just one man. And he could only produce so much _kaka._  

So once he knew there were only two of them, and they didn't want his mushrooms, he welcomed the newcomers. They wanted papers, which were useless to him. He knew they were there, in old metal boxes. It saddened him sometimes, that he might once have read them and learned from them. But that time had been and gone, and he was satisfied with his lot. He had a niche, and he would survive. They could take it and welcome. 

* 

"Does the lift work?"  

"Oh, sure, sure...well, maybe is not so good for people." 

Max stepped hurriedly out again, hearing something creak ominously above his head. 

"How's it powered?" Furiosa asked, doubtfully. 

"Clockwork!" the farmer declared, proudly. 

While Furiosa sorted through papers, Max and the mushroom farmer spent the best part of half an hour cranking the handle in turns. Then they tested it out. A sad groan emitted from the mechanism, a cog shot out and stuck in the opposite wall. 

" _Ach_ _,_ _Peezdets'_ " the old man muttered. "Was gonna happen someday." 

"What now?" 

"Now we pull" he shrugged. Furiosa sighed and moved to extricate the rope from the mechanism, first checking that the pulley was locked. 

"Umm..." Max interjected.  

"What's up?" 

"Maybe you shouldn't..." 

"Why not?" 

"Well..." Max paused. "Well, you hurt your arm that time, and..." 

"But that was ages ago...it's fine now..." The penny dropped and she turned away in confusion. _He knew. Of course he knew..._  

She heard him draw near and whisper, "Let's just do this, and then we can go home...if you want to...?" 

 _Oh Mothers...the waterworks again_ , she thought. _What the hell was wrong with her these days?_ She turned to him with a questioning look, and saw the answer in his eyes. 

"Yeah?" he asked. 

She took his hand and drew it to her lips. "Yeah" she replied. 

"ARE WE CHATTING OR PULLING NOW?" the farmer interjected impatiently, tired of standing holding the rope.  

* 

 _It's funny how Max remembered more about his past these days. It's like he was allowing himself to remember. And he found that he was less and less defined by his nightmares. He found that more of his memories were not of blood and pain and regret and failure._  

Here's how it was... 

 _Uncle_ _Maksym_ _thinks he’s chasing cats out of the garden. When, in reality, it's armed scavengers…_  

 _But it must be offputting trying to raid crops from a garden when there's a crazy old guy with an eyepatch, hissing and screaming at you in an unknown language, armed only with a stick, or an umbrella or, on one occasion, a samurai sword. But, as time went on and things got worse in the suburbs, they left the shotgun where he could_ _find it. He was as mad as a box of frogs, but he was still a good shot. And he wasn't above shooting persistent cats._  

 _*_  

 _He also believed that evil spirits lived in the toilet. To be fair, this was around the time that the municipal authorities decided that they had more pressing issues to deal with than sewer maintenance. It really did smell kind of hellish in there by that stage. So_ _Maksym_ _insisted on locking the bathroom door and keeping the key on his person at all times. He was a wily old bastard and would take a swing at anyone he suspected of trying to poach it. He would give it to Max only if he asked nicely. And that meant, in Ukrainian._  

 _*_  

 _Max had been very young, but he was a fast learner, especially when internal pressures demanded it._  

 _And now he remembered the old man, who'd died when he was about nine or ten. He was gruff and scary-looking with his one steely blue eye but he doted on his little namesake, and would throw him to the ceiling and catch him, while Max giggled hysterically._  

 _His father sat him on his knee one day and explained that Uncle_ _Maksym_ _was getting very old and he was starting to forget things. Sometimes that happened when someone had lived a long time and had learned a lot of useful things…their memory would get too tired to keep hold of it all. So Max should try not to mind if Uncle maybe someday didn't know who he was or talked in a way Max didn't understand. It was just his brain getting tired. He was still the same in here, his dad put a fist to his chest._  

 _*_  

 _Max remembered his father tell him of the first time the world burned. Not the whole world, just a town at first, then a whole region. But Petrov_ _Rokotyansky_ _had been just two years old when the Number Four Reactor ruptured, so it really was the whole world to him. Uncle_ _Maksym_ _never told him the details, but Petrov understood that his parents got very sick and had begged him to take their baby son out of harm’s way._ _Maksym_ _promised he'd take the boy to the far side of the world, and he had. He had been in the position to do so, because of his job and the travel privileges it afforded. Petrov never had been told as much, but he presumed his uncle had been a KGB operative of some kind. Either way, the man and boy arrived in Australia with the necessary papers, their surname anglicised slightly to_ _Rockatansky_ _._  

 _And so, Petrov grew up. He learned_ _Strayan_ _at school  and went by the name of Rock to his friends (though he was more of a pebble), who thought it was a enviably cool name. He always got to play the villain in the boys’ games, ‘cos his uncle was a_ _Russki_ _. He left school, got a job in a surveyors office and met Lindsey, a veterinary nurse. Boy meets girl, the world crumbles around them, they carry on regardless. And the rest is family history._  

* 

“How did you know?” Furiosa asks, as the car settles into a steady pace along the dusty road. The back is packed full of papers, an unusual cargo in this day and age.  

Max looks steadily at her for a moment. How can he find words to convey how he scrutinises every look and movement she makes, like it's the most important thing in his world? He shrugged. “I thought it was just wishful thinking at first”  

 _She closed her eyes to fight against the pricking tears._ “But I then I knew. Don't ask me how. I'm not even sure how.” 

“I should have trusted you…”she sighed deeply. _Weeks and weeks of anguish…_ _all the while,_ _‘wishful thinking’_  

Max shook his head. It wasn't about trust and they both knew it. “Prob’ly the hormones…” He glanced at her slyly. _Result._ Her frown was balm to his very soul. It suited her better than tears. 

* 

“Tell me about your uncle? Sounds like he was quite a character.” 

“He believed in what he did. Mostly, anyway. Did a lot of things he wasn't proud of, I think. Gave it all up for his family. He was good to me.” 

“He was your hero, wasn't he?” she smiled at him. 

“Suppose so. Wish I knew more about him though…” 

“I think every kid wishes that, no matter how much they did know…” 

They drove in silence for a while.  

“If it's a boy…Maksym?” she asked, hesitantly, unconsciously brushing her hand over her belly. _But…_ “Unless…?” her brow furrowed anxiously and she looked at him…

He understood the unfinished question. 

“No…he wasn't Maksym.” Max let out a shuddering breath. “He was…” he whispered in Furiosa’s ear. She looked up in surprise. 

“Really? Who was he named for?” 

“Nobody. We just liked the name.” 

* 

“I thought he'd have come with us” Max mused. “Guess he's happy enough as he is.” 

“Seems okay with the idea of visitors though” Furiosa smiled slightly and raised an eyebrow. “And I bet I know who'll be keen to go see him.” 

Max grinned. “She's always looking for a new crop. And we've got more shit than we know what to do with. Maybe could trade…?” 

 

And she gripped his hand as the three towers beckoned them home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope Google Translate isn't just an elaborate joke to take the piss out of the linguistically inept...(I don't speak Ukrainian. I don't know anyone who speaks Ukrainian. So if this is hugely, or even slightly incorrect, blame my ignorance and blind trust in the internet)
> 
> Glossary:
> 
> Chort tebe bery, zlodiys'ki vyrodky!"  
> DEVIL TAKE YOU, THEIVING BASTARDS  
> Dyad'ko  
> UNCLE  
> Meni patribno kakashky  
> I NEED TO POOP (actually poop, like you'd teach a kid to say it)  
> Tse dobre dlya hrybiv  
> IT'S GOOD FOR THE MUSHROOMS  
> Peezdets'  
> FUCKING SHIT (this was from YouSwear.com. Because Google Translate is not so good for swearies, sadly)  
> Strayan  
> AUSTRALIAN FOR AUSTRALIAN ;)
> 
> Other notes:
> 
> The whole 'there's an angry old guy attacking us/can I use your toilet' scene was nicked from Irish romcom 'The Matchmaker'.  
> http://m.imdb.com/title/tt0119632/
> 
> Max's father was born in Pripyat, several years before the Chernobyl disaster in 1986. I didn't go into any kind of detail on this, because it would have involved a lot of reading-up on personal accounts of the event, and it's just meant to be backdrop.
> 
> 'Vuvalina'...Does anyone know the singular of 'Vuvalini'? I thought maybe Vuvalina (fem)/Vuvalinus (masc)...?
> 
> This military compound is (presumably) the same one that Furiosa's dad stole geological records from. These documents pinpointed the location of the aquifer, leading to the eventual founding of the Citadel. They hope that the remaining papers might help them find a new Green Place.


	20. Skinhead Moonstomp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How the Boys adjust after Joe’s demise: theology, philosophy, medicine and music. Kinda.

Caleb always loved the moon. He knew that was wrong, it was the _S_ _un_ that War Boys should revere. The Immortan had touched the sun, after all, made it holy.  

He'd heard it whispered among the Greenthumbs that it was the sun that made the produce grow. That was heresy too, he knew. It was the Immortan who gave them everything they needed. But he wouldn't tell.  

Caleb liked to have things to think about, outside the day to day routine. He thought about the moon.  

He didn't care about touching the sun, even if he was offered the chance by the Immortan himself. It would _burn_.  

But he longed to reach out and touch the moon, in all its shiny splendour. It wouldn't hurt him. It was so chrome. He wondered what it did. What it was _for_.  

It must do _something_. The Immortan only tolerated things that were useful.  

You could navigate by it, but only if you weren't too particular about your destination. And the Wretched brought up from below say it makes people mad. Not kami-crazy, not fighting mad, not _useful_. Just a bit weird. 

Caleb wondered if _he_ was a bit weird.  

The moon didn't make him _mad_ , though. He was sure of that. It made him kinda happy. He saw Ace gaze up at it sometimes too, with an awestruck look on his face. He’d never seen him look at the Immortan like that. 

Caleb was glad Ace survived. Somehow, if he hadn't, Caleb thought he might not have come back to the Citadel at all. Just kept walking. Following the moon, probably, to see where it led him.   
   
But the V8 had spared them for better things, and had led them back here.  

 *****  

The New Citadel missed the Doof Warrior. 

Granted, they'd only heard his music when half of them were about to die, and that was _fine_ , but that sort of attitude was frowned upon these days. They were intended for better things than that, or so they'd been told. 

They'd entered a New Age, after all. The holy V8 had declared the Immortan Joe to be anything but. He was not a true god or, if he ever had been, his divinity had been snatched away by Imperator Furiosa and her new army.  

So now they would revere Immortan Furiosa, right? Logic. But the Imperator had taken great pains to stomp on that idea pretty quick. 

So why _wasn't_ Furiosa the new Immortan?  

 _Because_ , after the death of the Splendid One, the all-wise V8 had decided to _break up_ the divinity of the Immortan into millions of tiny fragments and scatter them over the whole world. But it would only settle on those who didn't treat people as things. 

It was a poser, but they were slowly getting the hang of it. 

There was a stubborn faction that couldn’t quite shake the idea that _someone_ had to be Immortan.  

If it wasn’t the Imperator, then it must be her Man. He was a Universal Donor. Didn’t he bring her back from the dead?Surely that meant he was some kind of Immortan? Not the kind they were used to, but still… 

Ace squashed this line of logic as promptly as possible. He certainly did _not_ want the Boys to get it into their heads that the feral was unkillable…though Ace wasn’t entirely sure about that, himself.  

He didn’t try to reason with them. He just warned them that he’d crack the skulls of anyone he suspected of spreading those kind of rumours. And that would be Valhalla compared with what the Boss would do to them if her Man got hurt. 

* 

Docker was just about the worst kind of Pup to keep in line. A cadet with an ‘enquiring mind’. He and his mate Vagrant couldn’t seem to put the idea down.  

Okay, they seemed to accept that Max wasn’t actually a god. Some people _were_ universal donors, apparently… 

But what about this raising from the dead thing? How did _that_ work? 

It all came to a head when Phyllis caught them sticking knives into dead bodies in the _Chapel of Rest_ , as they called it these days. They’d leave the dead in a quiet room for a day and a night so that their friends could visit them. And also to make sure they were _really dead_ , which Ace supposed was quite important when he came to think of it. 

This was a new thing to Ace…bodies went straight to the composter in Joe’s time…but even _he_ was shocked that two of his Boys had been caught ‘violating the dead’ as the healer put it. His mind boggled. What in the fuck had they been doing? 

Ace was relieved to find, however, that they’d merely been poking holes in rib cages...with no nefarious intentions. He was able to explain to the woman that the Boys were trying to bring the bodies back to life like Max had done with the Boss.  

After that, Docker and Vagrant were the healer’s regular assistants, keen to learn everything she could teach them. Including how stabbing someone _very carefully_ between the ribs can save someone with a collapsed lung, but will do less than nothing for a day-old corpse with a severed carotid. 

* 

And another thing…what made Max a _Man_ , while they were _Boys_? What was the difference really? A man was a grown-up boy, right? 

They were familiar with growing up…you were a Pup, then you were a Boy. So why were none of them _Men_? 

Was it because none of them lived long enough? Maybe. It hadn’t been much of a priority before now. You could say it had been frowned upon. 

But now the Women were encouraging them to _try_ to live longer. Properly.  

Look at Ace. Other Boys might ridicule him for being old. But wasn’t he the role model for them all, deep down? He’d learned stuff, _lots_ of stuff. He was the one they’d go to, the one who’d _know._ But though he’s a survivor, Ace was still a Boy, never claimed any different. 

Max wasn’t that old, but nobody called _him_ a boy but the two old women, and they were the oldest people the Boys had ever seen. The oldest full-lives anyway. Everyone was probably a boy to them. 

What was the difference between Ace and Max, then? The old Rig Crew sat late into the night to puzzle that one out. 

They were both survivors, there weren’t many years between them, they both wore the brand, they were both trusted implicitly by the Boss. 

 _“Max is breeding with the Boss, and Ace ain’t?”_ Taggy suggested.  

This earned him a smack round the head from Dek. 

“We don’t say ‘breeding’ anymore! The Women get mad when you call them breeders.” 

“What the fuk _should_ I call it then?” Taggy retaliated by punching Dek in the gut. “Can’t say trading paint. Dun’t neither of them _wear_ paint!” 

“Think there’s mebbe a difference between saying ‘breeding’ and callin’ someone a breeder” Caleb mused. “Folks gotta breed, ‘else we’d run out of people. But you don’t want it to be _all_ you do. You’d probably get bored. ‘Specially if you didn’t _want_ the job in the first place.” 

“Is it a _thing_ thing?” suggested Taggy.

That settled the question. None of them wanted to miss out on their tiny bit of Immortanness by treating people as _things_. Even by accident. 

“ _Anyway_ …that’s one difference. What else is there?” 

“Max didn’t much like Joe, that’s pretty clear. Kept tryin’ to escape.” Dek offered. “Crazy feral, I heard. Maybe that’s the difference? Ace is _civilised._ One of us.” 

“Well, he _was_ gettin’ used as a Blood Bag. Don’t think I’d be keen on that either.” Taggy folded his arms and looked scornful. 

“Even if Immortan told you to? Hisself?” 

“Wasn’t too Immortan when he got back to the Citadel, was he?” Taggy made a face. He’d missed the spectacle himself, but he’d heard stories. And the stain on the ground was still there. 

“Yeah, but would _you_ have tried to escape if you were a Blood Bag? If you were _my_ Blood Bag? Caleb’s? _Ace’s?_ ” 

“That’s different. I’d give _you lot_ my blood if you needed it…” 

“Hmph...well, what about Phobos? Deimos? Would you give it _them_?” 

“Would I fuck… _Those_ bastards?” 

“Yeah, but…If you _had to_ , though? What if you tried to get away, and they grabbed you, and…?” Dek tailed off. Even _he_ had an imagination. 

Taggy felt a little queasy at the thought of it. No wonder they looked for _volunteers_ these days. _No more things_. 

 _Okay. Breeding the Boss. Didn’t follow Joe. Two differences. Not a lot, really._  

They were beginning to yawn.  

“Fuck it, we’ll figure it out another time …” 

As Caleb dropped off to sleep, it occurred to him that it was just a word anyway. _Man, Boy_ …they might be different, or they might be just the same… 

* 

But _anyway_ …whenever the things you've been used to are all broken up, even if it's to make things better, it can be difficult. You have to make an effort to _build_. 

Which was why Caleb had set himself the task of finding a new Doof Warrior.  

He was an Imperator's second now. Ace was the _de facto_ Imperator these days, though he refused to wear the scarf. And Ace was doing his damndest to bind the whole Citadel together: the Boys, the Women, the People.  

It was kind of exciting. They needed their new world to be as strong as it could be. 

* 

Toots looks glum these days. Dag has banished him from the gardens.  

"Too many kids!" she grumbled when Capable asked her why. "Toots is like the Pied Piper. I let him help out, but he's more interested in dancing around to the music. That was fine for a while…the plants liked it. But then he tells his friends and every day more and more kids arrive. It's like having a plague of rabbits." 

Bereft of his beloved music box, Toots attempts to find a remedy for his troubles. He declared he's starting a band with his main crony, Scratch. They'll just have to make their own music, that's all.  

They're stuck for a name. They're just 'Toots and Scratch'. That's fine, but seems to lack a certain something. 

There is a loose collective of additional band members, all equally banished from the gardens, but less single-mindedly devoted to the cause. Unofficially, they're known as 'The Upsetters' because of the effect they have on Dag. 

Toots is the musical director and vocalist of the outfit, while Scratch supplies the technical expertise.  

Scratch has grand plans about thwarting Dag's tyranny by building their own music box. But that won't be any good without getting hold of some records. 

So, in the meantime, they'll have to settle for trying to recreate what they've heard.  

They get a hold of some drums and attempt to fashion a hollow box with a long neck to which they could attach some metal wires. It would need a lot of work, but they learned though trial and error that the wires made different twanging sounds if they were different thicknesses and were _just tight enough_.  

The racket they made was pretty deplorable but, with the addition of simple percussion like shakers and bottles of water, the effect was _almost_ listenable.  

After a while, Capable took pity on them and let Toots try to play his favourite songs by ear on her piano. He was a quick learner. 

* 

Capable had been practising too. Whenever she had a moment’s respite from helping run this now-beloved crazy house, she escaped to the Dome. Funny how she didn't loathe the place now she wasn't a prisoner.  

The Dome was open to everyone now, a library, sometimes a music room, sometimes a place of quiet. The Boys didn't really think to go there though. Not ‘til the little guy took an interest in Capable’s piano. Now they would often come in to see what was happening. The drummer Boys from the Doof Wagon, the ones that survived, were particularly keen. 

She didn't mind an audience. It was kind of nice to know she was playing to the whole world, in a manner of speaking. Now that the door was off its hinges forever. 

She played to forget the Boy she missed. And she played before an audience of those like him. Though not like him, not really. He was something special, that she'd never find again. It was all pretty messed up, but right nonetheless. 

So she played. 

Giddy had a few books of piano music. Capable had started with ‘Tunes for Ten Fingers’ not long after arriving in the Vault.  

She knew she was being trained to entertain her captor. She should have resisted it, but there was something in the music that held her captive in ways that than Joe ever could. She was playing for herself, maybe for her sisters and for Giddy, but ultimately to express something she hadn't previously known she had in herself.  

Once she'd mastered the simple child's tunes, she thought she could handle anything. But, it was something of a challenge to graduate to the more intermediate of Giddy’s music. She almost gave up in despair, but Capable was nothing if not persistent in the face of discouragement. She would persist, because she knew she could, deep down. She had to live up to the name she'd been given, otherwise what would she have left? 

It was a day of celebration when she felt ready to pick up the ‘Simply Brubeck’. Giddy said that, if she could carry _this_ off, she would ‘bring the house down‘. Capable didn't know precisely what that would entail, but she had a feeling that the day she could play this music perfectly, that day she would be truly free. 

* 

Caleb likes to listen to the kid sing. _He’s_ got a voice like an ill-tempered vulture, but he appreciates it being done well by others. Singing wasn’t a common talent among the War Boys. Couldn’t really sing along to Coma’s brand of melody, at least the kind that was for public ears. He’d heard him play in private, once and once only, and that was through two heavy doors. That was the first time Caleb tried and failed to croak out a tune.  

But it was real nice to just listen. And the music itself had rhythm. They’d come a long way. 

Sometimes he shuffled around the floor… _Bob, bob, bob…_ when nobody was paying attention. Then he’d throw in a few elbow moves when the tempo demanded it. _Tempo_ …the kid taught him that word. Sounds like a noise a drum would make if you just…tapped it. 

And then one day he heard it, holy V8…a _moon_ song…and his imagination caught fire. And it told you _how_ to dance, which was really helpful. 

 _Do the moon hop…mix it with the kangaroo...jump_  

He nagged them to play it so often that the kid declared that Caleb was _banished_. Big word for a little pup.  

But Capable had told him off…the Dome was for everyone and, besides, _they’d_ all been banished from the gardens and that hadn’t been very nice, had it…? 

Caleb also remarked that it’s not easy to banish someone who’s two feet taller than you.  

“Unless you’re Furiosa…” he added, after a moment’s thought. “Saw her floor Rictus plenty times…” 

“I’d like to have seen that…” Capable muttered, darkly. She gave Caleb a grin. 

“Who’s Rictus?” asked Toots, wide-eyed. 

“A _giant_ ” Capable nodded at him. “He’s dead now, though…” 

“’Cos Mother Fury killed’im?” Toots’ jaw dropped. 

“No. It was Nux.” Capable cleared her throat. “Nux took him out.” 

“Not little Nux, ‘cos he’s too little. You mean _Nux_ Nux?” Toots jiggled excitedly and nudged Scratch in the ribs as his pal retuned the twang box.  

“I’ve heard about him. He’s so chrome! Is that why you named your baby after him?” 

Caleb glanced in concern at Capable’s stony face. _You want me to take him away?_ his expression asked. She shook her head. 

Capable put her arm round Toots’ skinny shoulder and sat him down. “I’ll tell you about him…well, he was little Nux’s _dad_ , you know, and…” 

Caleb left them to it. 

* 

That night in his bunk, Caleb had that same old dream, and woke up laughing.  

Ever since he was a pup, he’d dreamt of leading an expedition to the moon. It was always a little bit different…sometimes they’d build a huge ladder and all climb it one by one. Ace would be at the bottom, holding it steady. 

When he got his first grease, he dreamt of converting all the vehicles in the fleet into flying machines to take them there.  

This was the first time it had featured a song and dance routine.  

“You alright there, lad?” Ace’s gruff voice rumbling up from the bunk below had an mistakable hint of amusement to it. “Havin’ daft dreams again, eh?” 

Ace might be Imperator these days, but he refused a room of his own. He’d stick with his lads ‘til the end, he always said. 

Caleb swung his gangly frame over the edge of his bunk and into Ace’s. 

“Can I ask you something?” he asked the older man, abruptly.  

That was Caleb all over. Serious and earnest to the core but, right out of the blue, he’d break out into a laugh that’d catch Ace’s attention, even to bring him out of deep sleep.  

“Sure, whassup?” asked Ace, sleepily. 

Caleb proceeded to tell Ace the idea that’d been nagging at him for weeks. How they all missed the Doof and did Ace think it’d be a good idea to appoint a new one…? He told of the Dome and Capable’s piano and the Upsetters and the band that the People were putting together under the stealthy patronage of Toast. So there were plenty of candidates…and… 

Caleb faltered here. In the dark, Ace could feel the heat radiating from the young man’s face. _Was he blushing?_  

“Ace…do you think I could…write a song…?” he managed. 

Ace almost laughed in his surprise, but stopped himself. He’d rather stick pins in his lumps than hurt Caleb’s feelings when he was confiding in him. 

“Well, _yeah_ …” 

“’Cos I think I’ve been _inspired.”_  

“Do it.” 

“I will!” 

That settled, they nestled down to sleep, squeezed into Ace’s narrow bunk. Just before he drifted off, Ace thought how much harder it’d have been to forgive Furiosa if Caleb had been lost... 

* 

Toast’s latest hobby was smuggling sonorous objects out of the Citadel without being caught by their erstwhile owners. 

She called it ‘training’. After all, someday she might become a Road Warrior like Furi and Max. Scavenging was a useful life skill. 

But the objective of this magpie activity was to gather musical _…things_ …for the band of motley land-dwellers she’d befriended.  

* 

It was early in the evening, just about supper time… 

…and the People were leaving their ramshackle huts now that the heat of the day had subsided to comfortable levels. It was the best time of day to catch up with your neighbours and chew the fat. They didn’t have any fat to chew, but that was besides the point. 

Toast wandered among them, head covered with a light shawl, toothpick between her lips as usual…she heard a rhythmic tapping. Nothing remarkable there, probably just an artisan at work. But then a faint tooting, buzzing sound crept in, complementing the tapping rhythm. Toast idly looked around… 

It was coming from ‘the Courthouse’, where the elders dispensed their wisdom on disagreements…four kids were gathered on the corner.  

A boy with bright red hair was busy scraping out a rhythm using a rusty spike and a mesh grille. Another, the one who’d been making that curiously tuneful buzzing noise, was shuffling around in the dust in time to the rhythm. The other two had no instruments but made do with clapping and stomping their feet in time. 

People stood nearby, watching the scene. Some were tapping their feet, others grinning.  

Toast was entranced. She had no idea the People made music...? And dancing…? Presumably that was a luxury that came from having greater access to water. She felt a glow at the thought that their having taken Joe down might have led to _this_ , among everything else. 

People were even dropping small objects, pieces of food even, into a bent hubcap. As _payment_ for music? 

She whooped and clapped along with the rest when they were done, then went up to talk to them. She _had_ to know who they were. 

The dancing one introduced them all.  

"I'm Willy, this 'un here's Rooster" he waved at the ginger boy. "And this is Blinky and Poorboy." 

Toast nodded to them all, taking them in at a glance. Blinky was particularly distinctive, not having any eyes to speak of. Rooster had a combination of particularly long pointed nose and barely any chin. The People seemed to have a knack of finding cruelly apt names for their kids, it seemed. Poorboy appeared to be built along more standard lines, as did Willy. However, Toast's keen eye distinguished more than a hint of 'female' about the latter, despite the cropped head and masculine bearing. She guessed that the Citadel wasn't the only place where it didn't pay to be a girl. Interesting... 

* 

Toast was lost in thought that night. Would the band let her help them? They had lots more resources within the Citadel and, although they did great things with what they had, she could probably get hold of more instruments. Those kids, now...Toots and Scratch...they'd been building all kinds of things these last few months. They wouldn't miss a few bits and pieces... 

And what about music? She remembered that song that Giddy had taught them, just before they made their escape...Capable wrote down the words and the music somewhere... 

So Toast gathered up as many scraps of paper to blow on, broken washboards and tin cans she could amass. This earned her such an approving look from Willy that she was in a glow for days. 

Eventually she succumbed to actual thievery and swiped Toots' twang-box. She wasn't so good at scavenging yet, though, since Toots saw her take it and followed her. He didn't mind much...he knew how to make them pretty quickly now and, besides, music should be spread around. Toots often joined them on the ground and tried to teach Blinky and Poorboy the twang-box, which ended up being a mutually beneficial exercise. 

And when a much-improved version went into circulation, he felt that he'd been rewarded. The Poor Boys never did tell him what they made the new strings out of, but they really _sang_. Gut bass, they called it. He didn't ask. 

* 

Caleb sat in the shade, musing over who should be the new Doof Warrior…the Skinhead Reggae Boys, Capable’s Piano Jam, or Toast and the Poor Folks? It doesn’t help that none of them can seem to stick to the same name for more than two days together… 

Maybe they could just take turns…? Have some kind of event where everyone can have a go…they could give it a name… 

He starts as a voice yells from the Lookout… 

 _“Incoming!!!”_  

 _“Who? Furi and Max???”_ Toast bellows back.  

It always amazes Caleb that someone so small can shout _so loud._  

 _“Unknown vehicle!”_  

_“Alright, saddle up!!!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who do YOU think should be the new Doof Warrior? Here are the three front-runners, with representative tunes from each...
> 
> A) Toots’ cute kid reggae collective?  
> http://www.bobmarley.com/media/videos/music-videos/three-little-birds/
> 
> B) Capable’s jazz piano ensemble?  
> https://youtu.be/_yExwkQYcp0
> 
> C) Willy and The Poor Boys’ street corner buskers?  
> https://youtu.be/vrMvblpZFq0
> 
> ...Or the wild card, Caleb?  
> Bez to Toots’ Shaun Ryder. Just bopping about in the background, possibly with homemade maracas.  
> The song he’s writing is ‘Skinhead Moonstomp’ by Symarip. He knows he not a singer, but he can definitely shout and order people around…  
> https://youtu.be/xHDBn7TL4JM (Gosh there are an awful lot of comments to this YouTube video, all pretty interesting. My conclusion is…1960s skinheads = a reggae-loving subculture, an alternative to mods and rockers; 1980s skinheads = white supremacy wankers who ruined it for everyone)  
> It's a rehash of ‘Moonhop’ by Derrick Morgan  
> https://youtu.be/6DlvK8WoMHE  
> *  
> Phobos and Deimos are two moons of Mars. These were the two Imperators orbiting round Joe when he was giving the Rig its send-off speech.  
> *  
> If you like stargazing War Boys, check out Zagzagael's 'Things Like That Drive Me Out of My Mind'  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/4220244


	21. Daddy was a Bankrobber

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My daddy was a bankrobber  
> But he never hurt nobody  
> He just loved to live that way  
> And he loved to steal your money

A curious sight awaited Toast and Althea. A dusty VW camper van decked out in a swirly paint job and ragged streamers. 

Four old scavengers piled out and advanced in procession. One of them was about four feet tall.  

Their escort of chalked and black-eyed Boys couldn’t seem to decide whether to maintain their default ‘imposing’ expressions or if it was okay to grin. They didn’t get this kind of entertainment every day. 

The foremost, a tall man with receding, closely-cut sandy hair, made a sweeping bow to the assembly of watchers.  

“People of the New Citadel, greetings! I am Magregor the Fabulist and these fine gentlemen are the Crusty Jugglers!” 

"Er, what?" spluttered Toast. "Are you a bunch of clowns or something?" 

At this point, Althea stepped forward, her brain having caught up with her eyes and ears.  

"I remember you! You’re…” she stopped abruptly. “Oh Mothers…” she breathed, wide-eyed. 

The tall man stared at her for a few seconds, her braids, the shawl round her neck. Then recognition dawned.  

“The Green Place! You were there...! I knew it was real…you’re…gimme a second...you’re Donna’s little sister, right? 

“Althea" she nodded. 

“So we didn’t just dream the whole thing! We tried to find the place again but…” he made a despairing shrug. His companions nodded in agreement. 

“We had to go…” she began, uncertainly. 

"Where’s Mary? Is she here too?” He cut her off, looking round the gathering crowd of faces. “How did you end up here?" 

Althea shook her head. This was going to be difficult. 

“We had to move on, Zal…but Mary’s not…” 

“Wait…hang on” Toast wasn’t called the Knowing for nothing. She’d been staring at the tall man with the green eyes, trying to figure out who he looked like.  

“ _Noooo_... This is Zal? This is…?” 

Althea cut her off before she could say any more. “ _Yes_ , Toast…” she snapped. 

* 

“Book Man!” an excited voice cried out, much to Althea’s relief. She needed time to regroup. 

A young girl was pelting towards the group, waving a thick paperback that had definitely seen better days. She slowed to a halt, and breathlessly handed the book to Zal, holding it reverently like a sacred artefact. 

“I’ve finished it! Cheedo taught me. It didn’t take as long as I thought” she gasped, clutching at her side. “You can have it back now…” 

Zal stared down at the book in his hands, then back at the girl. “It’s not...Dolores…?” A pleased but bewildered smile spread across his face. “You’re a bit taller than I remember…” 

“Pa’s here too! They took us in, and they didn’t kill us or anything!” she beamed. 

“I am very glad to hear it…” Zal managed, giving Dolores a hug and Althea a wide-eyed look over the girl’s shoulder. 

“Does this mean you’ve found the garden?” came a voice from chest-height. 

Zal cast his eyes over the green cascading over the rock face and laughed, awestruck. “I think  _you_  found it first…” 

Althea took Zal by the shoulder and led him off to somewhere quieter, while Pups dashed off to get the visitors some water and food. 

“Well, it's changed a bit here since I saw it last…” 

“I don’t doubt it. You and me need to have a chat. Got thirty-odd years of catching up to do…”  

* 

Zal sat with his head in his hands. It had been a blow. 

“She’s dead?” he echoed. 

Althea nodded. “About twenty years ago…convoy ran into trouble on the road. I wasn’t there. There was sickness in the settlement…nothing serious…but I was home with the little ones. We lost a few that day. Mary, Donna, Nancy, Anna…” her voice tailed off. She didn’t want to tell it all at once. 

“I’d always hoped to see her again” Zal continued, after a pause to remember the dead. His grief was small compared to the loss it must’ve been to the women at the Green Place. 

“She talked about you…” Althea smiled.  

“I asked her to come with us, you know?” 

“I know, Fur…I heard”  _Nearly slipped out…_

“I wanted to go back there, we all did. It was the most homey place we’d ever stopped. But it was too risky. We didn’t know if he was still after us. Didn’t want to bring trouble. When we finally made our minds up, we couldn’t find it again. I thought we’d maybe just imagined the whole thing.” 

_When our Furi gets back, you’ll know for sure you didn’t imagine it…_

“Never forgot her…” Zal went on. “Wonder what would have happened if we’d stayed.” 

“No point wishing for things to be different…” Althea fidgeted. “Drive you round the twist.” 

_Why’d it have to be me? Okay, time to get to the point…_

“Zal, there’s more…she never forgot you either. Partly because you left her something to remember you by…” 

“I haven’t anything catching, so…you mean…?” his eyes widened. “Did…is…?” 

“A girl, and she grew up healthy. Katie took her on as initiate…she was a sharp one, that kid.” 

“Your use of the past tense speaks volumes…” his voice was tight. 

“No, no...she’s alive. Left here a few months ago. She’ll be back.” 

“So…?” he urged her on. 

“We lost her when she was still a child…that day on the road, she was taken.” 

Zal groaned. Poor Mary. She’d have gone down fighting first… 

“Next time we saw her, she was escaping this place. Near twenty years later. Seven in a War Rig. Looking for us. Four breeders, two of Joe’s army and a blood bag. Slaves all, but one was his Imperator.” 

“And which one was she?” Zal breathed.  _What had they done to her?_

Althea smiled, half-proud, half-sad. “Our Furiosa? She was the Imperator.” 

* 

A few weeks later… 

The kids are busy kicking a ball around, having expanded the game of Subbuteo to a full-sized version, with the added advantage that any number could play at once. It was pretty chaotic, no participants entirely clear about which team they were playing for, and with upwards of thirty players on the pitch at any one time.  

It was a chrome alternative to War. 

One of them swings a foot wildly at the ball, hooks it badly and it bounces off the roof of the Interceptor just as it pulls up.  

A voice yells shrilly "I said get your head over it!" 

Toots cuts off abruptly mid-tirade and runs cheering towards the arrivals. Noticing something different about Furiosa, he skids to a halt and points a finger. "You've been making babies!" he shouts delightedly.  

That wasn't quite the way they had planned the announcement to go. 

* 

Evading the onslaught of enquiring, congratulating and just plain nosy people, Max slips away. It wasn’t just to avoid the attention.  

As they’d pulled up, they'd observed that full-size Subbuteo wasn't the  _only_  current craze.  

Max was pretty sure he recognised the stocky figure teaching a handful of the older Pups knife-throwing.  

As he edged closer to get a better look, he saw the thrower turn towards Furiosa surrounded by her crowd of well-wishers. The small man’s eyes widened and he called to an imposing figure lounging nearby. 

“Jerome! Get Zal. His daughter's here." 

* 

Max turned back hurriedly back towards the their car… _he wasn’t sure exactly when he’d begun to think of it as_ their  _car_ …to…well, to give her a bit of warning. 

She already looked a bit frazzled by the welcoming committee…this would be a  _shock_. 

But she’d followed him, no doubt equally curious about what had been going on since they went questing.  

Furiosa stopped when she saw the knife-thrower pack up his blades and dart off towards the steps to the higher regions. 

“Max…does that man look like a  _dwarf_  to you?” 

“Bit rude…” he teased. 

“You know what I mean” 

“Furi…” Max pointed after the departing man with his thumb. “They're _here._ You were right, it's...” 

And here they came. Althea, Toast, Cheedo and her shadow Dolores, veritably dragging a tall man in their wake. The knife-thrower trotted alongside, giving what looked like a pep talk to his pale companion. 

Furiosa took a deep breath and squeezed Max’s hand. “Can’t believe this…” 

“You alright?” 

She nodded. “Stay?” 

“I’ll be here” 

* 

“You’re Mary Jabassa’s daughter?” 

“You knew my mother?” 

“For three days, thirty-three years ago.” 

She nodded, extended a hand. He took it. 

“You know how she died? They’ve told you?” 

“They told their story. I was hoping you might tell me yours.” 

“Will  _you_  go first? I’ve wondered for so long.” 

“Well, Karl here…his father used to own a carnival, before the End of the World…what’s a carnival? Well…” 

* 

They’d gathered quite a crowd by sunset.  The news that the Boss was having a pup was a sensation in itself, and more and more people had gathered to see Furiosa meet her father.  

At the centre of the circle, the father and daughter were talking animatedly, while the others alternately listened in and chatted amongst themselves. 

* 

They compared notes, more often than not. The Old Green Place, Miss Giddy, their common enemy himself... 

“What have you been doing all these years?” Furiosa asked. “Avoiding Joe, I know, but…” 

“Mainly trying to get back to the Green Place. Some Green Place, anyway. Thought your folks might be there. Made for here when we heard he’d been killed…” 

At the look on Furiosa’s face, Karl nudged his friend. “And you were worried you wouldn’t have anything in common!” 

* 

“Ah, it’s Cardenio!" exclaimed Karl the knife thrower, spotting Max lurking in the lengthening shadows. "Zal, you remember?" 

“Ah! The Ragged Knight...!" Dolores, sitting with Cheedo and Ace, looked wise. 

Zal tapped his nose and pointed towards her in congratulation. 

Max grunted a little in acknowledgement. "I know you. Bartertown." 

"And you helped out a stranger in distress, for which I thank you" Karl bowed his head graciously. 

Furiosa felt a proper introduction was overdue. "This is Max. He's..." 

"Your special friend. The young entertainer kindly filled us in."  

 _He’d heard him called ‘Boss’s Man’, ‘Fool’, ‘Blood Bag’, ‘the boy’ and ‘Feral’, but_ _Zal_ _had been particularly tickled by Toots’ account of his encounter with Dad Max and Mother Fury. So that was the name that stuck. Which was fortunate, really._

 Zal clambered to his feet and stepped towards Max with a hand out to shake, but this abruptly became a bear hug. Many of their audience smiled at the sight. Max was not typically comfortable with tactile people, but he was clearly making an effort in this case. 

* 

Thus reluctantly drawn into the inner circle, Max wordlessly nudged Furiosa onto the topic of their quest. How they had chased Zal and his crew hither and thither across the Wasteland, following the trail of chaos they left in their wake. 

They were much entertained. And Max was enlightened as to a few of their special effects. Including how to give your ride a convincing but temporary ‘unsalvageable wreck’ look. 

“Nearly forgot…we’ve got a pile of documents in the car. Got ‘em from your…” Furiosa’s statement was terminated prematurely by her involuntary but jaw-cracking yawn. Wow...tired.  

And Max was sagging slightly where he sat. 

“Hmph, where  _is_  the car?” he looked around in consternation. 

“Oh, I let some of the Boys drive her in.”  

Max made a pained noise in his throat. 

“Special occasion?” she suggested. He relented with a sleepy shrug. Hard to argue with that. 

What now? Indoors, probably. That’d feel strange, after these months under the sky. Definitely food, though. He brightened at the thought. Lizard jerky tended to pall after a while. 

* 

“Can I call you Dad?” she asked, almost an afterthought. 

He laughed incredulously. “Can I call you Daughter?” 

“If you like, but my friends call me Furi. Or…um…” seeing Ace’s pointed stare as he paced alongside “…Boss.”  

She was a little embarrassed at this admission. It sounded a bit funny, when she said it out loud. 

* 

“So, how’d you two meet?" asked Karl, conversationally, as they walked stiffly towards the refectory. They’d been sitting on the ground  _way_  too long, on top of the long drive. 

Furiosa raised an eyebrow at Max and inclined her head, inviting him to answer that one. 

“Hmm...I stole her Rig with a broken shotgun." In response to her look, he added “…well, moved it a coupla hundred yards maybe…” 

“ _After_  I tried to stave his head in with a pair of boltcutters." 

“That’s cute. Love at first sight then?" Karl replied. 

* 

“Boys doing well with the, uh…” Max pantomimed throwing a knife.  

The straw sacks were pretty ragged in what would be vital areas to anyone with imagination. 

Karl grinned proudly. Words were unnecessary in this case. 

“I could have done with some of your training when I was younger” Furiosa mused, chin on hand as they sat over the crumbs of their meal. “Learned an important lesson about knives back then...Don't throw them unless you know it'll kill. Otherwise they're pissed off. And they've got your knife." 

"Ain't that the truth…" Karl nodded, and turned to Max "That's pretty much how it went off that time in Bartertown, if you remember..."

Max sees Furiosa's fingers stray unconsciously to her right side, where her longest scar was hidden. He caught her eye and she responded with a kind of half-shrug, half-nod. Her own story was old news. There was a more interesting tale to hear right now. 

* 

But curled up in the car that night, Furiosa gave Max the details...  

 _She'd managed to hit the target about three times out of five back in the Green Place. That'd seemed pretty good, back then. This was not one of the lucky tries, especially with the shaking hand of someone who thinks their life will depend on it._  

 _She…the War Boy Cog…was fourteen. She had led her team of cadets to victory in that day's training exercise, as she had many times before. Unfortunately, this time,_ _Bonzo_ _decided he'd had the piss taken out of him one time too many._  

 _He and his goons confronted her in the washroom. It wasn't to be a regular beating. This would be humiliation, followed by several months in the Blood Shed. She couldn't let that happen. So she pretended to be down, beaten._  

 _Bonzo_ _stepped back to consider his next move. She took the opportunity to grab her knife by its tip and throw it with all her strength. But, regrettably, not all her accuracy._  

 _Her arms pinned, he slowly and deliberately sliced the tip of the knife..._ her knife _, which makes it doubly painful…down her right side, from collarbone to the bottom of her ribs._  

_Almost blinded by pain and desperation, she kicked out . He staggered back, lost his footing and smashed his head open on a metal pipe._

_She sobbed in the darkness. At the blood, at the pain, the shock._

_At the knowledge that she's almost certainly just killed someone._

_Fumbling_ _in her many pockets for needle and thread, she fixed herself as best she could._

* 

It’s never a great idea to relive old traumas last thing at night. The images would once have haunted her sleep for certain. 

But... 

 _…that was then, and this is now..._  tomorrow will be about the future… 

That was the thought she hugged to herself as she drifted off. There were no nightmares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is Bankrobber, by the Clash.  
> Not to go on about it, but 'The Sacred Art of Stealing' is worth a read.  
> McGregor is a peripheral Brookmyre character, who stole the show in 'One Fine Day in the Middle of the Night'. The funniest book ever written.  
> Cardenio was a volatile character encountered by Don Quixote and Sancho Panza living in the wilderness of the Sierra Morena. He was a bit upset about his relationship troubles.  
> The fight with Bonzo was the scene in Ender's Game mentioned in the notes of 'Furiosa Incognita' and alluded to in 'Your Star Will Shine'. It would have taken place around Day 900 ish.


	22. Brace Brace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Love is a hazardous pastime. We strongly recommend specialist insurance.

Home again…and they’ve both called it   _home,_ more than once…with the promise and reality of more family than she’d ever dreamed of since she was a kid. These were her waking thoughts…  

Her   _father_ was here. And she and Max were…hopefully…going to have a baby.  

And with the distant hope of a new Green Place getting ever closer…  

…everything seemed to whisper hope for the future, for all of them.  

*  

Her worst fears had been dissipated on the way back to the Citadel.  

She’d told him in a torrent of words that she hadn’t   _thought,_ she hadn’t meant to trap him. It was the  Vuvalini  way…the community they lived in…if they were with a man they liked, and a baby was the result…it didn’t mean they had to   _pair_ …  

She’d been so caught up with this new experience…with   _him_ …that she didn’t think of the consequences…what it might do to him…how fucking   _selfish_ …  

It was with an effort that he could check her tirade of self-reproach enough to get a word in.  

“Look…stop…it’s   _okay_ …” He took her face between his hands. “ _Look at me._ We’re   _both_   good at protecting ourselves, right?”   

She blinked, nodded. Couldn’t argue with that. They both knew their weaknesses, and could spot danger before it could touch them. They’d turned survival into an art.  

He’d prepared himself for this…  

“So it’ll be okay…nobody’s fault but my own if it isn’t.”  

*  

They had the best of both worlds. They were home again, yes, but the freedom of the Road lingered on.  

Their work done, they would still pile into the Interceptor, giggling like kids, to drive out beyond the view of the Citadel’s Lookout. Besides, there was   _way_ more  room in the back again now they’d unloaded their haul.  

Furiosa  drove, while Max leaned back in the passenger seat, taking in the view. She glanced sideways at him now and then, with a knowing smile.  

Pulling up in a shady spot, she wasted no time in clambering into his lap.  

“Thought you’d like a closer look.”  

“…hmm?” Max sounded distracted.  

“They _have_ got a bit bigger, right…?”  

From where he was sitting, Max could hardly feign ignorance of what she was getting at. But still…  

“Hadn’t noticed…” he glanced up at her face briefly, eyes innocently wide.  

“Liar.”  

*  

Afterwards…  

“Can’t sleep in the car forever, though…”  

She groaned and ran her fingers lightly over the fine hair on his stomach. “But it’s   _so nice_ …”   

“Not much room as it is…it’ll be a bit tight for a third…” Max swatted her tickling hand and rolled over carefully onto his side to face her.  

“Yeah” Furiosa  chuckled, remembering how she’d hit her head on the ceiling. 

“Get a room somewhere?”   

“Mmm” she smiled and kissed him. That was one of the things she’d been running away from, but then…everything was so different now. Time to face old demons. That’s what Max was doing, after all. She took a deep breath. Besides, time to grow up. Quit messing about. Got responsibilities now.  

“There’s always my old room…in the meantime? Till we find a new one.” She sighed and sprawled on her back, looking up at the ceiling. “And Ace had a point…”  

“Yeah?”  

“About me taking it easier. He had a word the other day. And I   _know_   you’ve been thinking it.”  

Max grunted noncommittally, made that one-shoulder shrug, which she translated as a resounding yes.   _Hopefully this’ll stop him worrying,_   she thought, leaning in to rest her brow against his.  

*  

Furiosa always suspected that she had a stubborn streak, and the last few weeks had confirmed it…  

It shouldn’t have been a surprise that it would be Ace’s words that hit the mark. They usually did, eventually. But she thought he would have been well outside of his comfort zone in this case.  

“I dunno much about  havin' babies, Boss, but I don't think you should be  heftin' that box” Ace rumbled, after watching her for a while.  

Furiosa  stopped shoving and sighed.   

“Not you too…I get enough nagging from the women. I thought I'd be safe from it   _here.”_   

Ace frowned. “There's folks out there as don't have a choice on’t.   _Have_   to keep on  sweatin' even when they can barely see their feet...my mum was one of ‘em. Lost four babies after me. She was sound, too. But it's your choice, o’course…”  

Ace had never told her that he’d had a mother…  

*  

So she didn't join the Boys on patrol duty the next day, or the day after that.   

She wasn’t with Max when he got shot.  

*  

No, she was up on the terraces, wandering along the rows of beans, dreaming of Green Places past, present and future.  

She was smiling when a flash caught her eye, then another. She stared.   

 _…urgent…medical…_   

Furiosa  ran down a flight of stone steps to the Lookout, where she almost collided with a Boy who was barrelling out the door.   

 _Who…? Who is it?_   

She ran in. Toast was on the scope, and spun round with an expression of…it looked like guilt. She looked sick.  

“Furi…” Toast stepped towards her. “It’ll be alright…”  

“Max…?”   

 _Anyone else, say it’s anyone else, I don’t care who…_   

“Yeah, but…”   

Furiosa  couldn’t follow what the girl said next…she felt a prickling sensation, her arms and legs felt cold, her   _head_   felt cold. She slumped to her knees. Either that or fall.  

Toast was by her in a second. “Oh, don’t   _you_   get sick now…come on  Furi, snap out of it. He’s going to be alright, I   _know_   he is. It’s Max,  _right_ …?”  

*  

Max almost laughed when he felt the bullet hit.  

He’d hoped, he’d begged with God or Fate or whoever might be there to hear. He’d pleaded that   _it would be different this time._   

Be careful what you ask for.  

Someone had a fucked-up sense of humour. Different this time, can’t deny it.   _He would be the one to leave them._   

*  

“Hold him down! Max, I need you to keep still…”  

 _“Need t’say…”_   

“Can’t we sedate him?”  

 _“…say g’bye…”_   

“Oh god, this is too much…No, got to keep him conscious. Keep pressure on it…I’ll get the sutures…”  

“How you going to stitch when he’s like this…? Max, stop…! You’re going to be okay.”  

 _“Dying…got…”_   

Capable waved her free hand helplessly. What could she do? She couldn’t   _slap_   him…Phyllis would be furious. He’d been shot in the neck, after all. But he probably   _would_   bleed out if she couldn’t find a way to calm him down. In despair, she grabbed his nose and squeezed. Max made an outraged squawk and stopped moving. He blinked up at her, his eyes awash with tears.  

“Oh, Max…I’m sorry. But you’re okay,   _I promise_. The bullet went clean through…doesn’t look like it hit anything vital.”  

“Don’t wanna die…” he gasped.  

“Well, you won’t today. Will you keep still now? Don’t nod.”  

“’Ssss”  

“Good. Furi's  on her way, and you don’t want her to see you like this. Think of the baby…”  

Max rolled his eyes towards her in pitiful incredulity.   _What else could he have been thinking of?_   Then he remembered  Nux and his retort died in his throat.  

“Sorry…for…freaking out” he wheezed between shallow breaths.  

“Sorry I grabbed your nose…okay, here’s  Phyl to stitch you up.”  

Capable went off into the side room, where she sat down and took several deep breaths. That had been a close one. Max had been incredibly lucky. And so had Furi…  

*  

When she returned,  Furiosa was there, hovering uncertainly nearby, pale as ash. When Phyllis finished her examination,  Furi  edged forward and sat by him, stroking his face wonderingly.  

“Thought you were gone…” she whispered, barely audible.  

“No…c’mon” Max gripped her shaking hand and kissed it. “Shhh...”  

Capable didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. She darted out of the room and opted for the latter when she was sure she was out of earshot.  

They found her later in the gardens, explaining manifest destiny to little  Nux  while he crowed in delight, kicking his feet.  

*  

Phyllis was a tough woman, she knew it. One of the three surviving born Vuvalini, there wasn’t much that she wouldn’t do to keep moving. But she really hated having to perform life-or-death surgery on her loved ones. She had a tendency to freeze up.  

She supposed she was grateful to   _have_   loved ones. Unlike Nan, poor girl. She was a surgeon to the bone, that one, something else Phyllis was grateful for. Especially when the Boys carried Max in, bloody from a neck wound and frantic in the certainty it had killed him.  

She’d seen plenty of gunshot wounds to the neck and, almost always, most of the work went into cleaning up afterwards. If they didn’t bleed out violently, they’d usually incurred too much neurological damage to survive. The worst was when there was a   _chance_. When the bullet was still in there and   _if only_   they could get it out without killing the patient in the process…  

Thank the Mothers for Nan. Nothing could faze her, with her steady hand and unblinking eyes that would never turn away, even for a second, from the worst of wounds. Phyllis would need Nan’s help today.  

But yet she didn’t…it was unbelievable. Whatever had hit Max had gone clean through him, no yaw…no cavitation, no ripping tearing death. Strong carotid pulse, no airway obstruction, no haematoma.   

She could  _see_  this and could barely believe it. No wonder the boy had taken some persuading.  

Once the panic was over and Max was resting, the Boys gave  Furiosa  and Phyllis their report.  

Max had gone ahead to strip a vehicle after they’d put down a Buzzard raid. Caleb and  Dek  were about ten paces away when Max jolted to a halt and staggered. They didn’t know what hit him, didn’t even hear the report of a gun. Maybe a crossbow bolt…?  

They hadn’t stopped to look around, just bundled him into their fastest vehicle and sped hell for leather back to the Citadel.   

Phyllis knew enough about War Boy culture by now to appreciate the significance of this. Time was, they’d have just yelled ‘ _Witness_ ’ and run off to avenge their fallen comrade. She was glad the new philosophy was becoming as much practice as theory. Looked like  Furi  knew that better than anyone. The Boys looked scared enough, but they didn’t need to worry about getting into trouble with the Boss.  

“Was he conscious?” Phyllis asked them. “Was he breathing normally? Could he speak?”  

“Yeah…wasn’t making much sense, though. Could breathe   _okay_   I think, but was…y’know…freakin’ out a bit. That didn’t help.”  

“Taggy  asked him lots of questions…had to keep him awake, he said.”  

“We kept  talkin’ to him. When we ran outta ideas, we sang Caleb’s song, bits we could remember anyways.”   

“You did right.” Phyllis nodded at them approvingly. The  neuro  exam had been hopeful too. Normal response to light. Max could tell her what he’d had for breakfast _…something mushy, nice. And a crunchy thing_ …and what he’d planned for tomorrow. Move into  Furi's  old room, apparently. Phyllis nearly choked up a little at this.   

Phyllis tested his grip strength _…_ _yahhh_ _, you’re fine,_ she’dyelped, shaking her crushed fingers. She got a couple of Boys to act as resistance for Max to push his legs against. Also fine.   

Nan was delighted. “Prob’ly  won’t need to decompress his spinal cord after all!” she beamed with her weird white eyes. “As long as tetanus doesn’t get him, he’ll be home and dry.”  

Phyllis asked him to stay in the infirmary for a few days for observation. Especially since it’d be hard to match blood for him. Phyllis always felt the ABO system was a bit of a sick joke. If she had any say in the matter, universal donors would also be universal recipients. But she didn’t make the rules.  

Expecting resistance, she was pleasantly surprised to receive none. She was glad to see the boy finally getting some sense of self-preservation. While Phyllis washed, dried and dressed his wound,  Furi  dragged in a bedroll for herself, clearly planning to stop for the duration. It’d be good to have someone keeping a proper eye on him, to wake him at intervals, ask questions to check he’s thinking clearly.  

*  

The next few nights pass without complications. Max sleeps, breathes well enough, wakes when prodded, grumpily answers questions and obligingly shows no immediate signs of infection.  

Eventually Phyllis agrees to let him leave on the condition that they   _do not sleep in the car_.   

“Got to keep him comfortable, right? No awkward positions…”  she mumbled, leafing through the  Book. “Don’t  want to get his neck in a kink...”   

Max made a kind of high-pitched grunt which  Furiosa interpreted as   _Seriously? Even now?_ but Phyllis, bless her, was innocent of innuendo for once.  

“What should we keep a lookout for?” Furiosa  asked. “Anything in particular?”  

Phyllis had finally found what she’d been looking for…the short section entitled ‘Complications of Penetrating Neck Injury’.  

“Hmmm…says here…”   

 _Long pause. Ominous._   

“Well? Don’t keep me hanging,  Phyl…”  

“Um, well…be careful swallowing. Maybe more likely to choke on food or water. Might be a bit wheezy, short of breath for a while.”  

“Okay.” Furiosa  nodded. “Anything else?”  

“Voice might be affected. Could be harder to speak normally. That’s your singing career over, lad. Sorry.”  

Max sighed resignedly. He’d never hear the end of this when it got out. The Boys’ brand of gallows humour simply wouldn’t allow it.  

“That’s not too bad. Thought it’d be worse…” Furiosa  murmured.  

“And, obviously, keep an eye out for signs of infection. Fever, the usual.”  

“Sure.” Furiosa  nodded.   

Infection was the boogeyman in the Wasteland, you’d die just from worrying about it.  

Which was why Phyllis hadn’t gone into detail. Those kids didn’t need to have the words   _catastrophic neurological deficits_ emblazoned on their imagination. She wished she could scrub away the image herself. Just file it under   _infection_   and be done.  

*  

When Max and  Furiosa  move into her room, it’s the first time he's really   _been_   there, apart from a quick glance. And there have been a lot of changes since the last time   _she_   slept there, to say the least.  

He's so unused to sleeping in a bed that she pulls the blanket off and they curl up on the floor.   

The second night they try out the bed and end up talking till dawn.  

The third night they're both out like a light moments after flopping down on the lumpy mattress.  

On the fourth night…  

*  

Furiosa  thought of the lives she could have led.   

Of growing to womanhood in the Green Place, of friends and lovers. Of seeing her home sour, sicken and wither, taking those she loved with it.  

Of failure, of succumbing to the unspeakable fate she'd fought to avoid. Of violation, rage and despair.   

But instead, here she lay. On an Imperator’s bed, her head on her chosen lover’s chest and her right leg draped over him as he stroked her hair. The gentle swell of her belly that was just beginning to make its presence felt.  

Nothing to fear now but losing him and the others she'd begun to love… _is that all?_   

 _But she loved him best_ , she thought, her breath catching strangely as she kissed his chest, her leg wrapping round him, unconsciously pulling him closer. Her hand accidentally moved lower, and she drew it away guiltily.  

“You won’t hurt me, y’know.” he murmured into her hair. “If you want to…”  

Furiosa  smiled, despite herself. “Don’t know if you can be trusted to make that decision…”  

“You’re not going to go get  Phyl's  opinion, are you…?” he asked, doubtfully.  

“She did say I should keep you comfortable. Aren’t you comfortable?” she asked, innocently.  

Max shifted slightly and cleared his throat a little. “Not entirely…”  

“Only if you’re   _really_   sure.”  

*  

And she did love him. Within the hour she would tell him so, as he made the stars spin for her…the first time under the Citadel’s roof. She hadn’t meant to…and, besides, it was barely audible. Just a whisper in those few seconds of euphoria where there are no consequences…  

 _Shit_   

She didn’t even know for sure if she’d said it out loud. He didn’t make any signs that he’d heard…okay, he was lying very still, breathing a bit oddly, but that could be him protecting his healing wounds. And if the blood had been rushing in his ears as loudly as it’d been in hers, he probably hadn’t caught it…  

But what was it her mother had warned her about unfinished sentences? She’d always said it like she was quoting from somewhere…  

 _‘Never leave a sentence unfinished…it shows you have the wish without the power to conceal your sentiments.’_   

Or, put more simply…doing a half-assed job is worse than not starting it at all. She took a breath…  

*  

“I love you, Max. But you   _know_   that, right?”  

She  heard his intake of  breath and  turned her head to look  at him. His  brow  was  creased in  what looked like confusion in the low light.  

“You know that?” she whispered, anxiously.  

He nodded, very slightly.  

She let out the breath she didn't realise she was holding. That was all she needed to know. She buried her face in his chest and brushed her fingers over his lips in the semi-darkness to keep the words in… _don’t say it, please don’t..._ she felt a wetness on his cheek.   

“…love… _you”_   he whispered.   

*  

 _Furiosa  dropped a butterfly kiss on his cold lips. They’d cleaned him up, he looked almost peaceful. She knew better than that. There would_ _be no peace for either of them, not now..._  

She woke with a sob and rested her forehead against his broad back. Tried to regulate her breathing, to ground  herself. Here he was, not gone. Warm and breathing. She laid her palm on his chest to feel his heart beat  and Max, sleeping still, grasped her hand in his.  

*  

“How can you   _stand_   it, though?”  

Max made no immediate response to this cryptic question…understandable really, though it riled her in her current state of mind.  

“ _This_ …”  Furiosa  waved her hand comprehensively. “This… _thing_. It can only end in   _death_.”   

The end of the sentence was barely audible, for two reasons. One, that her head had dropped into the crook of her elbow. Two, that the significance of her own words had caught up with her.  

 _Was there nothing she could keep to herself these days?_   

“That’s the deal…” Max sat down beside her. He looked pale. She could have kicked herself.  

“But how can you do this?”   

 _Crazy enough to do it_ once _. But to keep going back…?_  

“Not a choice…tried to leave lots of times. Can’t.”   

He shrugged, like he was making a confession.  

“Sorry…” she took his hand.  

“You should be…” He kissed the top of her head. “All your doing…”  

 _How can something feel so good and hurt so much at the same time?_   

It was absurd to be so shaken up…she'd almost lost him countless times on the Road. And vice versa.   

But that was different. When they were together, the adrenaline was like a drug. Fear and pain didn't seem so bad. If one got hurt, the other had their back and would deal it out five-fold on the perpetrator.   

 _This_   was a kind of sick anxiety that she hadn't experienced before. She couldn’t seem to get it out of her head, how close it’d been.  

How was she going to live with this feeling till the baby came? Wondering if he’d come back in one piece at the end of the day.  It  was going to drive her nuts.  

But, when he was properly up and about again, Max seemed more than happy to volunteer for more domestic work…repairs, training Pups, construction.   

Sometimes she had an uncanny feeling he could read her mind… 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The soundtrack to this chapter was brought to you by Bonobo. There are no lyrics to quote.  
> https://youtu.be/LMMLCwO8fWg
> 
> Not being a ballistics expert  or a  paramedic, the following were my sources of information:   
> https://library.med.utah.edu/WebPath/TUTORIAL/GUNS/GUNINTRO.html   
> http://www.orthobullets.com/trauma/1059/gun-shot-wounds   
> https://patient.info/doctor/gunshot-injuries 
> 
> The best way to get  shot, as far as I can see is as follows...  
> Perforating projectile : Penetrating (non-exiting) missiles deliver all their contained kinetic energy, while perforating (exiting) missiles transfer significantly less energy to tissues    
> Low velocity: A handgun, rather than a rifle. Shorter barrels, less range. But no hollow-tipped bullets, please   
> Yaw of 0 degrees at the point of impact: Yaw is decreased with longer distances of bullet travel, allowing a bullet to strike its target nose-on. So a ricochet would probably be bad for your health. 
> 
> Energy  transfer is not your friend. According to Bartlett CS, et al. (J Am Acad Orthop Surg. 2000), it depends on:   
> -amount of kinetic energy at impact   
> -stability  and entrance profile (yaw)   
> -calibre, construction and configuration of the bullet   
> -distance and path traveled within the body (penetrating vs perforating)   
> -biological characteristics of tissues impacted   
> -mechanism of tissue disruption (stretching, tearing, crushing).  
> 
> Complications of a gunshot wound to the neck may include cervical spine osteomyelitis (infection of spinal nerves and neck vertebrae) and vocal fold paresis (Godhi  et al, J Maxillofac Oral Surg. 2011 Mar; 10(1): 80–84). 
> 
> On a more literary note, Mary  Jabassa  quoted Lady  Delacour’s  advice to her daughter (Belinda, by Maria  Edgeworth). Nan is a cross between Lucy Maud Montgomery's Mary Vance and Louisa May Alcott's Nan the lady doctor.


	23. I Kissed A Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sex and gin and rock’n’roll…the Citadel’s first New Year Hootenanny
> 
> (I'm so sorry, this is FAR too long. But it's mainly dialogue so maybe it won't SEEM long. Live in hope, anyway. And there IS a rarepair in here, which took a bit of working up to. Disclaimer: one of these hookups only happens in a dream)
> 
> THIS IS OFFICIALLY MY CRINGIEST CHAPTER. Of this I am aware :)

“I should have guessed, I suppose. The signs were there.” Toast sighed as she agreed to take Cheedo’s turn at the monthly audit. You didn’t renege on a bet, no matter how distasteful the forfeit. 

“I mean, that time I ran into Furi coming out of the garage” she mused. “Couldn’t figure out what was up with her at the time. Flushed  _and_  flurried.” 

“And Max was there, right?” Cheedo grinned. 

“Yeah, but I thought they were just having a fight…he had a rip on his shirt and this big purple mark on his neck…” 

Cheedo smiled and shook her head, not a little condescendingly. “Toast, this is Furi and Max you’re talking about...don’t you think that’s maybe their way of doing it?” 

She remembered the life-or-death struggle by the Rig, how the two of them had grappled. She’d been too petrified with terror to notice at the time,  _obviously_  but, in retrospect, Cheedo had often wondered if that hadn't been something akin to foreplay.  

Like in her books, but a battle of dust and blood rather than words. 

“Yeah, but he might’ve just really pissed her off.” Capable intervened. “It does happen.” 

“Well...he didn’t look angry though, more dazed-like. I’d thought maybe she’d hit him alongside the head or something.” she shrugged helplessly. 

“Herbaceous or woody?” 

“What?” 

“The stem...” 

Blank looks all round. Sometimes it was hard to tell what conversation Dag was having… 

“The  _schlanger_ …” Dag clarified, as if explaining to the hard-of-thinking.  

“Oh!Right” Toast looked at her sister curiously. She half-expected her to start sprouting leaves herself some day. 

“I didn’t notice. Wasn’t  _looking_. Besides, he was behind his car. Said he was busy...sorting something out…” Toast’s voice tailed off. 

A snort came from Dag. 

Either way, it was pretty conclusive now. Plain for the eye to see, as it were. 

* 

Toast grumbled to herself as she walked.  _It all comes down to_ _schlangers_. She didn’t get the appeal. They were so ridiculous, whether they were dangly and floppy or rubbery and bobbing in the air. 

She’d asked Capable,  _nagged_  her to explain what it was like getting fucked by someone you liked.  

Capable had done her best, she’d gone on about how it was a  _nice_  kind of hurt, how she hadn’t wanted it to stop. How she’d begged him to keep going, even after it was obvious that he couldn’t anymore. He’d touched her with his hands then, she’d showed him how.  

 _That_ part Toast understood. It was everything up ‘til that point that she couldn’t wrap her head around.  

If there was one thing that irritated Toast, it was  _not knowing_. 

Then she brightened, remembering she was due to meet Willy and the Band. Bickering with Willy was her new favourite hobby, guaranteed to shake her out of a huff. 

* 

Well, one thing was certain. Furi and Max had bred, and they were having a pup. Cheedo would always complain when Toast called them that…  _‘Pups are Pups, but babies are_ babies _…’_ she’d say, like she thought that was some kind of logic. 

Anyway, Toast couldn’t quite absorb the image of Furiosa having a  _baby_. She and the Feral would definitely have a  _Pup_. A wily, fierce little Pup. A fighter, for sure. 

But Furi was the last person Toast had expected to see all round and full like…well,  _nothing_  like how she was when they first met her, all hard edges and sharp points. _T_ _ouch me and I’ll break you, look at me and I’ll stare you down_. 

Just how Toast wanted to be. 

She’d heard stories from the older Boys who remembered Furiosa as a War Boy. They’d only been Pups themselves when she’d been fighting in the Pits, bare to the waist, painted in white and black. She’d been just another Boy then, apart from the missing arm.  

They’d been all but floored by the news she was breeding now. 

Her name had been Cog. Toast wondered if she’d picked the name in a mood of desperation, resignation that she was trapped here, destined to die for Joe.

But that was Furiosa’s way of avoiding the Vault, so she’d clearly had a plan of some sort. A long plan. Toast had been conceived, born, grown and dragged spitting and snarling to the Vault herself in the interim.

Toast would have given anything to have joined Furiosa then, if she’d known. To have even  _seen_  her.

Now she was ‘blooming’…Cheedo’s words…the Fool’s pup growing inside her. It seemed to be agreeing with her, though. She looked hopeful, spent hardly any time staring distractedly at the horizon. When she did, it was with purpose, probably thinking about the New Green Place. 

Sometimes, though, she’d look different. Afraid. That the pup wouldn’t be right. Phyllis would keep saying,  _there’s no little one ‘_ _til_ _it’s able to announce itself._ Reminded Toast  _not_  to keep calling Zal ‘Grandad’. It wasn’t fair on a man, to get his hopes up when little ones were involved.  

Especially when Max had been wandering around who knows what godforsaken hot zones since his last one. His swimmers were probably cannibalising each other by now, Phyllis lamented.

The Vuvalini didn’t know the words  _Grandfather_ and _Grandmother._  They were just all family. There were too few of them who would live to be old enough anyway, since they didn’t allow their girls to fuck before they were eighteen years, regardless of how early their blood had come. Too early to start before that.

Toast wished someone had told Joe that. Hell, someone probably had. He would have had his own ideas. 

And Phyllis had been grumbling about having to deal with having a father around at a birth. A  _grandfather_  would be just impossible. But she had a particular frown on, though, so everyone could see she was pleased about it really…

So everyone was excited, worried, speculating about the new development.

And then Max got taken down by a Buzzard bolt. The look on Furi’s face then…it was the second time Toast had seen it. That look that reminded Toast to  _never ever hope for anything._

He was okay, of course he was okay. It was Max, right? But it all got a bit more serious after that. Furi walked round in a fog for  _days_. The Fool’s been around a lot more since then. No bad thing. 

* 

“ _dink, dink_ … this thing on?”

* 

They’d all been a little nervous about organising a big event. So the New Year committee had come to a unanimous decision. It was called ‘giving the Celebrations a freestyle dynamic, to reflect the new spirit of the Citadel’. It could have alternatively been called ‘winging it’ or even ‘copping out’ but it took off a lot of pressure. None of them wanted any Joe-era spectacle, full of grandiose posturing. 

On the downside, it relied on the Citadel residents stepping up for impromptu performances. What if the Boys got an attack of shyness? It’d hadn’t been known to happen before, but never say never. The People were an unknown quantity…even after a twelve-moon, many of them still kept themselves apart. But the former Milkers were loudly proclaiming their excitement about the event and there were several acts on the bill that would hopefully get things swinging.

Besides, Jerome and Leo pointed out that they’d engineered emergency performances under pressure in the past.  _Don_ _’t worry about it_ , they’d assured them.

* 

There had been some self-conscious ceremonials to start. The Remembering, then the Naming. Important things, sombre, quietly joyful. But no one really wanted the mic for long.

There was a widespread sense of relief when the Hootenanny was declared  _open_. Some of the younger Boys scrambled to set up extra microphones and others dashed off to get the singing box from the terrace. 

Refreshments stalls popped up like mushrooms after rain, drawing the bravest of the People.  

Curious sounds reverberated off the Citadel walls.  _Boom Boom._  A sound that would typically have the War Party on alert. But no…it was just a Boy called Brad. He was the proud owner of a deep bass voice that could make water cups vibrate across the table. An ancient man of the People… _a ‘physics teacher’ in the Before_ _, he said_ _…_ _odd,_ _he didn’t look like the fighting type_ _…_ was giving a lesson in something he called ‘acoustics’.

*

Althea sat on the platform of the grain silo as the sun went down, making a silent toast to those lost on the Road. Both on that epic day a twelve-moon ago, and during the long wandering years before.

In the distance she hears Phyllis sing her song, the only one she seems to remember. It’s beautiful and sad and triumphant despite it all, and makes Althea smile.

 _With a sad lament my dreams_    
_Have faded like a broken melody_  

There’s the unmistakable sound of someone trying to be heard just below. It was well known that Althea went armed, even within the relative safety of the Citadel. Old habits and all that. 

“Evenin’…” Ace called out. “Join ya?” 

“Sure.”

Ace climbed the ladder and sat down stiffly on the platform edge.  _Looks tired_ , Althea thought, as she handed him the flask. 

“How’s it hanging, old man? You look how I feel.” 

Ace took a swig and grunted a little. He handed it back with an enquiring look. 

“This? Phyl’s New Year Gin. Got a bit creative with the new produce. Dag’s got a good crop of herbs in. Yeah, I know, right? Growing things just for their taste? The times we live in…” 

“It’s good. Different.” 

Althea didn’t know if Ace was referring to the gin or not but she nodded in agreement. 

“Shame we had to lose so many along the way though...” she murmured. 

Ace nodded. He’d been mulling over that himself. Especially since the women had attached such significance to  _The New Year._   

Ace had always counted his half-life in days, and it had been a challenge to start thinking in these bigger chunks of time. He could cope with Moons, that was easy. Especially with Cal around. You just had to watch the sky. Twelve Moons to a year seemed a bit random, but who was he to argue? 

Twelve Moons ago, the Citadel sent its best and strongest onto the Road. One in twelve returned.  _Twelve again…maybe it’s a special number after all…_  

“I knew ‘em all…good lads, most. Lot of ‘em would have liked this…” he looked up and round. “Would’ve been no trouble, if they’d made it. Others... not so much.” Ace shrugged, sighed. “Maybe for the best…” 

“Sometimes wish none of it’d happened? Couldn’t blame you…” 

Ace shook his head. 

“Things needed changin’. Weren’t gonna happen without blood. The way o’ the world. Just miss the old faces sometimes…” 

“You two are alright, though?” 

Ace knew who she meant. They still thought he might be mad at  _her._ His tread was worn way too thin to be to be angry anymore. But it’s a New Year, need to try clear away old arguments. Try to explain. 

“If I raged at her, I’d have to rage at the whole world. It’d never end. And then what would I be?” he sighed wearily. 

Althea nodded happily and nudged his shoulder. “You’re a good man.” She liked to be able to say that and actually  _mean_  it.  

 _Man, eh? He’d have to tell Caleb._ Ace changed the subject, pleased and embarrassed despite himself.  

“Young ‘uns seem to be enjoyin’ themselves.”  

It was a bit strange to say  _young ‘_ _uns_ and mean…well,  _all_  of them. Not just Boys or Pups. 

To think that War Boys, Wives, Wretched, Milkers and Wasteland Ferals would be gettin’ up a  _party_ …? But yet here they were. 

They’d officially named the new pups…babies…at noontime. Two by the Widows, four by the Milkers, one by a cut-down Blood Bag, three by miscellaneous Citadel women and an incredible  _ten_  from the Wretched-as-was.  

Twenty fresh new lives they’d celebrated. Looked like some of them might even be full-lives, though time would decide on that. No brand for them. 

The Boss’s pup would be named in another twelve-moon, if it made it. It made him a little dizzy to see her all full and, what’s  _more_  incredible, glad to be so.  

To think she’d let the Feral man breed her. It’d been plain to see that she liked the Feral, he was  _the Boss’s Man,_ but Ace had never seen any signs of them trading paint…not that either of them  _wore_  paint…but here was a definite sign now. Ace hoped it’d come out sound enough to be named.

To think that Ace would be thinking ahead to this time Twelve-Moon… 

 _It actually seemed to be working._   

But Ace was still sceptical, despite everything. It was his second who kept him moving with his infectious enthusiasm. A wise head full of youthful dreams… 

Ace felt old. And lonely.  _Shoulda gone long ago_ he thought. Did he think he was being clever, sticking around here instead of heading to Valhalla like the rest of his peers? 

* 

Althea watched him slip back into melancholy. It didn’t take a genius to see what was on his mind. And she knew how he felt, in part at least. 

“I’m the oldest of my kind as well…” she murmured.  

Ace lifted his head, half-guiltily.  _Was he so transparent as that?_  

“Phyllis is ‘bout, I dunno, seven years younger? Keep was the oldest for a long while, but she was  _ancient_.” 

“How old?” Ace asked. 

“Phew, nearly sixty. Fresh air and clean livin’, she said. Pretty sure she was kidding, though.” Althea offered the flask up to the sky with a smile. 

“What’s that in days?” Ace asked. 

“You got me there. Bloody Citadel timekeeping. See now why it’s inconvenient?” 

They both sat for a few minutes, calculating in their fingers. Ace got there first, having had more practice and less of Phyl’s gin. 

“Just shy of twenty two thousand…V8…” he gasped, impressed. 

Althea shrugged. Too many zeros on the end and it lost all meaning. 

“Didn’t think it was possible…” he went on. 

“Zal’d be not far off that…” 

“Yeah…but int he a wizard or somethin’?” Ace grinned. He’d heard so many daft stories about the Boss’s Dad that he’d either believe everything or nothing.  

“And you?” he asked. 

“Well…I was fourteen when Zal’n the others showed up…” she frowned “That was thirty three years ago…forty seven, then. That’s…” 

“About seventeen and a half.” 

“Damn, you’re good. Seventeen and a half sounds way better than forty seven. Shame about the thousand days part. Could almost imagine it  _was_  three years ago…” 

Althea seemed to shake herself and beamed at Ace. The smile looked a little forced, he thought, but then he was never that great at reading faces.  

“Never thought I’d live this long. It kinda feels like a challenge, y’know? To see how long you can hang on? Maybe even make it to twenty.” 

“It did. It  _was_ , but…” Ace let out a long breath, shook his head. 

Furi had said that Ace was about sixteen when she arrived here. Only late thirties now.  _Fuck, this isn’t right_ , Althea thought. Suppose it’s all relative. Depends what you’re compared with. That thought spun her off onto a wild theory…that didn’t seem so very crazy after a couple of seconds scrutiny. 

 _Okay…let’s test the waters…_  

“You sound like you need to get laid…”  

“Hmph” Ace shifted uncomfortably. 

 _Okay, she’d intended to broach the subject more subtly than that. Back it up..._  

“I mean…” she frowned with the effort “…don’t you Boys hook up sometimes…? Sharing bunks and that? Furi mentioned it. Obviously  _she_  didn’t participate, but she had her reasons…she’s not opposed on general principles, you can see that yourself…Or, y’know, maybe with  _other_  people, not Boys…?” 

 _Fuckin_ _’ gin, no more for_ _me..._ she thought, suspecting she had crossed the line between fluency and rambling. 

To her relief, Ace didn’t take offence. Maybe he took  _pity_ , but that was fine. 

“Aye, that has been known to happen.” he confirmed. 

“Welllll….?” 

Ace reached for the flask and took a huge gulp. 

“It’s been a while.” 

“How long?” 

Ace swayed slightly with the effort of mental calculation. “More’n two thousand days. Six years, say.” 

“Owww… there was me feeling sorry for myself…nobody since?” 

Ace shook his head. Took another drink. 

“You were, what, thirty, thirty-one? Who was it? ‘Nother War Boy?” 

“Nooo…too old for War Boys then. Rock Rider.”  

“Oh yeah?” Althea raised an eyebrow.. 

“Yup. Big hairybeard.” Ace smiled sheepishly. He was swaying a little now. 

“Last War Boy, then?”  

“Brick. Lancer. Witnessed.” Ace set his jaw and tried to rest his elbow on his knee. He missed. 

“Ah. Sorry.” 

“’S’alright. Happens.” His nostrils flared a little. 

“Sooo… these Boys. You’re not…y’know…their  _father_  or anything…?” 

Ace snorted.  

“No?” 

“Noooo…s’not  _that_. Jus’ too old…” 

“You’re not  _old_. In your prime! What’s a few years?” 

“Thirteen.” 

“Wha’?” 

“Thirteen years. Four thousand nine hundred and twenty days to be…um…” 

“…precise?” 

“Hmmm” Ace nodded. 

 _So there’s a Boy. A particular Boy. About_ …Althea couldn’t work out how old, but a good bit younger. If she just could sober up, she could maybe… 

“ _Why_  too old…?” she couldn’t remember if she’d asked that already. 

“Remember ‘im when he was a  _Pup._  ‘S not right. Not  _normal_.” 

“Thirteen years is  _nothin’”_  Althea made a dismissive gesture. “Fuckin’ _…twenty_  maybe, but thirteen…?” There was something else…oh yes…” _Anyway_ …what’s  _normal_  anyway? All kinda changed lately, right? What’ll  _normal_ be next year?” 

Ace groaned. “Wouldn’t look at me anyway…too  _old.”_  

Althea gave up. This was too hard. They were going round in circles. 

“So you’re just gonna… _not do anything_ …? For the rest of your life?” 

“Nope.” Ace set his jaw stubbornly.  

 _Ace was a stubborn drunk._ _Furiosa_ _could have have told Althea this, but it had never come up._  

Althea let out a long breath. Well, she tried... 

* 

“So…y’ever done done it with a woman?” 

Ace blinked, thought for a moment.  

“No” he concluded. “Where’m I gonna fin’ a woman anyway?” 

“Suppose…” Althea shrugged. Joe’s Citadel didn’t sound great. Maybe those that could, ran off. 

“Some of ‘em did, though. Boys.” He went on. “Told me to try it. Some of ‘em were even willing. The women, I mean.”  

Ace frowned, sobering slightly at the sound of his own words. This was one of those  _then_  and  _now_  moments. Something deemed okay  _then_  that was definitely not okay  _now._  

He froze a little, uncertain. 

Althea broke the awkward silence. “You didn’t, though?” 

Ace shook his head. “Always something going on, always too much to do…and, well, we were all together…” he shrugged. “Suppose I like what I’m used to.” 

“Yeahhh…that makes sense.” Althea reached for the flask. It was empty. No matter, here’s another. She settled back comfortably.  

“Men only came visitin’ once a year back home. Only us girls most of the time.”  

“Men off raidin’, sorta thing?” 

Althea nodded. “And we’d run the settlement.” 

Ace grunted. That made sense. They seemed to be able to do most things, apart from lancing. Shooting off of bikes, like the Boss. 

“And I can put in a good word for women, by the way. Great for most things. Though…” Althea added, wistfully “… _and this is just one woman’s opinion_ …” 

She rolled over and jabbed Ace’s elbow with her finger “…there’s nothing quite like a good cock.”  

Ace blinked. He thought they were talking about fighting, maybe fixin’ stuff. His mind must’ve wandered. 

“And you’re of the same mind.” she observed, settling back again with a skyward smile. Stars were coming out. She raised the flask to the heavens in greeting, and handed it to Ace again. 

Ace shifted position with an awkward grunt. He wasn’t sure exactly  _why_ he was lancing. Prob’ly the topic of conversation. And the drink. He took another swig and slumped back clumsily. 

Ace’s mind was racing, despite the gin. He wanted to ask, but couldn’t bring himself. He’d never get another chance, though.  _How do they…?_ He suddenly  _really_  wanted to know…or at least he wanted to know what it’d be like to…maybe… 

Althea’s head was spinning, her heart pounding. It wasn’t just the drink. She wanted to ask, but couldn’t frame the words. She stole a glance at him…he wasn’t asleep, wasn’t gazing up at the stars. He was glancing sidelong at her, kind of…curiously. 

“What’s it like?” Ace went for it. “With a woman. You...you like it?” 

“It’s softer. You don’t get the chin rash, y’know? And…well…it’s quite wet. If you’re doin’ it  _right_ , that is. ‘Cos we make our own…ehm….” 

“Lube. Oh yeah, I know that. But…d’ya use a tool or what? ‘Cos, y’know…no gearsticks…” 

Althea snorted. “Can do.” 

“And how’d you know you’re doin’ it right? How’d you know you’re done?” 

Althea considered “It’s hard to explain. It’s like redlining, then your transmission seizing up.” 

“Sounds…dangerous. Don’t it hurt?” Ace was leaning on his elbow now, his pupils dilated. There was a tremor in his voice. And he no longer looked self-conscious of the tenting going on in his baggy pants.. 

Althea smiled, bit her lip, shook her head. 

 _Fang it_ , as Furi would say. She sat up, legs curled behind her and looked him in the face. 

“You wanna try it?” 

His eyes widened. “Yeah…” he breathed, not feeling quite so old and worn-out anymore. 

* 

She stripped down. Completely. He’d never seen a woman naked before, not by her own hand, anyway. 

She’d nudged him to sit up, back against the silo, and kneeled down over him, sat back on his still-clothed thighs. Ace knew that he’d just have to unbelt and shuffle a bit to get his lance free, not a big job. She wasn’t reaching for it yet, anyway. Maybe she wouldn’t. Maybe that wasn’t how it worked. 

“Just stop anytime…if you feel uncomfortable.” she’d said.  

 _Comfortable_  was not the word for how Ace felt right now, but he there was no way he’d ask to stop. Not yet anyway. 

“What do I do?” He didn’t know where to look, what he could touch, where he would even begin. He  _wanted_  but didn’t know what. 

“Whatever you want. I trust you. You can’t hurt me, don’t worry.” 

Ace reached out and touched the long braid that fell over her shoulder. The strip of fabric at the end came away in his fingers. Ace glanced up for permission and received a half-smile and a nod. He unraveled the coils of hair as best he could one-handed. When she reached up and shook her hair loose, Ace was entranced. Silver and gold, like the moon and sun all shining at once. He stroked it reverently as it fell over her breast. At this, Althea took a shuddering breath and rose up a little to fill his hand.  

Ace wasn’t slow to take a hint. Her breasts had certainly caught his eye before now, he just wasn’t sure if he should touch them. He cupped one in his hand and stroked the other lightly and she seemed to be falling apart. What would happen if…? 

He ducked his head, brushed his lips against a nipple, licked tentatively. A low whine, a helpless whimper in his ear. This from the Warrior who’d helped kill an Immortan. Ace's lance ached at the thought.  

This is what a Willing Woman was like. Not just willing, but  _wanting_. He didn’t want to think what an unwilling one looked like. 

His hands moved, carefully, gauging her responses. She had her lips at his ear now, inhaling deeply. He wondered if she’d avoid the lumps clustered there. No. Her hands lightly stroked his neck, his shoulder…got a little more forceful as they reached his chest, his arms. As his fingers brushed the silvery hair further down, she moaned out loud. Right in his ear. Made him jump a little.  _Ohhh, maybe that’s the part_ , he thought. 

“That…that the wet part? Can I see if…?”  

She growled in his ear, “ _Yessss_ _”_  

Ace explored with his fingers, feeling her shift against him, guiding him to the right place. He was glad of it, he might’ve got lost. But yes, this was the wet part.  _They were_ _doin_ _’ it right._ As hair gave way to layer on layer of softness, Ace realised that  _ohhh, it keeps on going_. And she didn’t mind, no, not at all. In fact… 

“Please…please…we don’t have to…but…” she wailed.  

“D’you mean…?” a thrill of excitement ran through him... 

“You think you could…?” Althea glanced meaningfully down at his crotch. 

Ace was pretty damn sure he could. He fumbled for his belts. This was turning out to be an interesting New Year. 

* 

“Sorry…” Ace groaned, watching her mournfully as she pulled her trousers back on. 

“Don’t need to apologise to  _me_ ” she assured him.  

And he really didn’t. From a purely selfish point of view, she’d got  _exactly_  what she wanted. Time to take him to where  _he_  needed to go now. She just didn’t want to be butt-naked when she was doing it, though. They’d pushed their luck far enough, and if they were to be caught now,  Althea would rather be decent. Funny how she hadn’t given that a thought earlier… 

“It’s…like drivin’ an automatic when you’re used to a manual…” he went on, willing his lance to subside. “Dun’t matter how chrome it is…feels off balance. Hard to relax into it…” 

“I understand. Really. Just bear with me a minute.” Althea fumbled awkwardly with her buttons. She’d come so hard she thought she’d gone blind for a minute. Still hadn’t quite regained her equilibrium yet. 

“Okay…let’s try something you’re prob’ly more used to…hey, what you doin’ there?” 

Ace, who was shuffling back into his pants, looked up in surprise. “Thought we were done…”  

He made a strangled noise deep in his throat and his cock practically made a  _bound_. 

What Ace saw before him was Althea crouched before him grasping a pair of short knives in her hand.  _How’d_   _she know about_ that _?_  he gasped inwardly.  

“What?” she asked, bewildered at his wild-eyed expression. She whipped her hair into a knot in one fluid motion, secured it with...  _Oh_... 

“Thought you were gonna…” he made a slicing motion with his finger. 

“What? No! Why would you think…?  _Ohhhh…_ is that…? The  _scars?_  Is that a  _thing?_ ” 

“Sometimes. On special occasions.” Ace’s eyes glazed over, mentally reliving the best night of his half-life. 

Althea raised her eyebrows.  _These Boys were something else_.  

“That’s one too many for me, sorry. But how ‘bout you shut your eyes and think about  _that_  while I do  _this…_? Yeah? Okay then…” 

She knelt down, licked her lips and took him  _exactly_ where he needed to go. Or close enough. 

* 

Ace buckled his many belts. He was grinning. It made his face feel weird, but he couldn’t quite fix it.  

Althea hummed contentedly as she pulled on her boots. As Ace turned to climb down the ladder, she called out “Hey…thanks.” 

He shook his head and rolled his eyes. Still grinning, he continued his descent.  

An external door opened, a cacophony of young voices. Most passed on, one came through, advancing toward the silo.  

Althea saw Ace freeze. Looking down, she saw it was Caleb. “Ace! Where you been? You missed the Little Birds Song! Y’alright?” 

“…” Ace opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out. 

“Hey Al!” Caleb waved up at her. “You’re missing the party!” 

“Gotta go…got a…thing” Ace practically bolted. 

“He alright?” Caleb asked, as the door slammed to. 

“Just a bit tired. Us old folks don’t have the stamina, y’know.” 

“Can I come up?” 

“Sure” 

Caleb clambered up the ladder. Althea sat, leaning against the silo, flask in hand. 

“Havin’ a good night? You done your song yet?”  

Althea smiled at the young man. She’d kind of stopped thinking of him as a boy, for all that he was so young. She'd suspected as much, now she was almost certain. Caleb  _was_  pretty special. 

“Not yet. Bit later. Bin shiftin’ the piano down from the Dome. Takin’ a break.” He waved a canteen.  

 _Water, bless ‘_ _im_ _…_ Althea thought. “You deserve it. Four flights of stairs? Get that water down ya.” 

He glugged it down, gratefully. Still didn’t feel right to drink so much. It was so much easier when someone gave permission. 

When the canteen was empty, Caleb sat still, just letting the water trickle down into his radiator, seep into the cavities, get to where it needed to be. It was a chrome feeling…no, not chrome…there was a better word for it, surely.  

Then he noticed, shut his eyes, looked away.  

“What’s up?” Althea asked.  _Everyone’s a bit maudlin tonight_ , she thought. 

“You got white on ya” he languidly waved a finger at her neck area, where her shirt began. She looked down and tutted. She’d made a fine mess of the buttons too.  

“Wish I was old…” Caleb mumbled quietly. 

“Live long enough, you will be…and don’t take the piss, lad” Althea retorted, wiping at her skin.  

She wasn’t bashful, but she could live without the ribbing she’d get if she went back to the party covered in evidence. Bloody stupid paint… 

“I’m  _not takin’ the piss_ ” Caleb returned, sharply for him.  

And this was true, Althea thought. He had plenty of quiet humour, but it never manifested itself that way.  

“And that’s no good, anyway. Always be too young…” 

“How old  _are_  you anyway?” Althea asked, slyly. 

“Twenty four and forty three days” he replied, mournfully. He was an advocate of the new years-and-days system, it being a good compromise. 

She did a quick mental calculation. Okay, that confirmed it. Althea handed Caleb her last flask, what was left in it. “Here. Try a bit of this.” 

He took a sip and licked his lips. “Hmm. ‘S’nice. Different.” 

She waved it away when he handed it back. “It’s all yours. I’ve had plenty.”  _You’ll need it._  

She regarded the Boy sidelong. Plenty of scars there, not so many as Ace, of course. Four thousand plus days worth of difference, she supposed. She wondered how many of them were the kind of scars that Ace was talking about. Maybe there soon would be. If she had anything to do about, there would be… 

 _Prob’ly_ _need to be delicate about it though…_  

“Ace’s problem is, he’s got it into his head that he’s  _too_  old. For lots of things. I’ve been tryin’ to convince him otherwise, but there’s only so much  _I_ can do…” 

The young man sat in a despairing reverie. She didn’t know if he was even listening… _right, to hell with subtlety…_  

“Caleb” she snapped, her small stock of patience exhausted. “You want to pair with Ace, you’d best get a shift on. Ain’t none of us getting’ any younger round here.” 

“…?” Caleb’s chalked face flamed. 

“Or you gonna just sit round mopin’ all night?” 

 “You think…?” 

“ _Yes_.  _Go._ ” 

He downed the contents of the flask and scrambled to his feet. 

* 

Althea followed at a distance. A tiny part of her brain was afraid that she’d got it all wrong and a horribly awkward scene would be the result. But the rest of her was just curious to see how two War Boys came to an understanding. This whole knife business, after all…? 

* 

Ace sat limply on a stone step. Any nitro from his experience earlier had been flushed right out of his engine. If anything, he was thinking  _clearer_ , which had only made things worse. 

Two dancers strutted and hopped around like a pair of flapping long legged birds, circling each other to the beat of the Drummer Boys. Crowds stood watching, clapping their hands to the rhythm and the deep  _thrum, thrum, thrum_ of Toots on the big twang-box.  

 _They_  knew what they were doing. Ace hadn’t a fuckin’ clue anymore. 

They suddenly began jumping and leaping high in the air, just as Capable kicked into action on her piano, rattling out a rapid tune that would have had Ace’s heart leaping once upon a time. 

Then it  _did_  leap. He caught sight of Caleb striding across the floor. Ace’s legs overruled his brain’s call to  _hide_  and he got unsteadily to his feet. 

Cal was coming to him, not a practical dreamer but a Boy with War in mind. He stopped just short of colliding with Ace, and nudged his head aggressively against his. Not a headbutt by any means, but hard enough for Ace to reel back a little from the impact. And the surprise. 

“Cal…wha’…?” he looked at his second, wide-eyed, unbelieving. 

“Ace.” Caleb growled, and sank his teeth into the older man’s cheek. 

 _Oh Glory_ , Ace whispered, closing his eyes. 

The piano riff ended with a flourish, the crowd went wild… 

* 

Caleb licked the trickle of blood from Ace’s face. Teeth clenched, shoulders squared, he stared down his Imperator, nose to nose. 

Ace blinked confusedly at him for a second that seemed to last for an eternity. He took a shuddering breath, parted his lips on Caleb’s cheekbone. He bit down hard. 

Caleb shivered with euphoria and found himself going half-limp with relief. He hadn’t allowed himself to contemplate what would happen if his claim had failed. Imperators weren’t  _claimed_. They did the claiming. But he  _had to_ …some things were just too important. 

He’d always been Ace’s. But now Ace was his. 

* 

Ace’s glow faded slightly as he remembered what had gone before. He had to tell. Althea wouldn’t mind, he knew and, besides, maybe Caleb already knew. 

“Cal…I…I lost some paint tonight.” He licked the blood from his lips and looked at Caleb plaintively. 

“Lost…not traded?” 

“Lost.” 

“Not a War Boy?” 

Ace shook his head. 

“And you won’t be wantin’ to do it again?” 

“’Course not! Paired now, ain’t I?” He gently knocked skulls with his partner. 

“What was it like? It  _was_ a woman, right?” Caleb asked, innocently. He was glad there hadn’t been a War Boy as well. That might have been awkward. There was a protocol for resolving rivalries and it could get pretty messy. Whereas he judged Althea didn’t want to challenge him, since she’d sent him after Ace in the first place. 

Ace huffed a small laugh in his relief. Of course Caleb knew. There was nothing that Boy couldn’t figure out. 

“Well, it’s kinda like drivin’ an automatic when you’re only used to manual….” 

Caleb draped his arm round Ace’s shoulder and they wandered off through the crowd. 

* 

Althea, watching the two bleeding men from a safe distance, shook her head and smiled incredulously. So  _that’s_ War Boy courtship in action… 

* 

“You’re alright, y’know…” Toast slurred as she leaned towards Willy “…for a  _total_ _schlanger_ _…”_  

Their work was over for the evening. Toast had acquitted herself well enough in her first try at play-acting. It wasn’t as hard as everyone said, in fact it was barely like acting at all. And she’d got laughs, even when she wasn’t  _trying_  to be funny. So she must’ve made a decent job of it. 

And Willy’s Poor Folks had really  _owned_  Giddy’s old song. 

Now they were  _hammered._ Toast’s face had gone numb. 

Willy, never able to back down from a Toast-challenge, leaned towards her friend unsteadily.  

“Well…” that last drink had stripped away the last of her vocabulary “… _fuck_ _youuuuuu_ _..._ ”  

Toast blinked fuzzily and attempted to align the words she’d just heard. She was able to fix on a selected few, which is why she then… 

…wrapped her fingers round the back of Willy’s cropped head, and closed the bare inch that remained between them. 

The kiss was urgent, and fierce and hungry. Just how Toast had wanted it. 

* 

“Wow”  

Max’s eyes were wide as Furiosa turned to look at him. She’d felt him tense up, grip at her thigh.  

“Just when I think I’ve got used to this place…” 

“What is it?” 

“Just seen Ace and Caleb bite each other on the face…” 

“Aww…really? That’s chrome. Glad they finally did it.” 

“I’m lost.” 

“War Boy Claim. That’s them paired for half-life now. Caleb’s had a crush on Ace  _forever_. I suspected Ace was interested, but he keeps these things very close. Wonder what happened to get ‘em round to it?” 

“’S’alright then. I thought there was gonna be blood on the walls…” 

“Oh, there probably will be…” 

*  

“Never done that before…” Toast gasped. 

“With a…?” 

“With  _anyone._  Wanted to, maybe, a long time ago, but…” she glanced involuntarily over at where Furiosa was curled up very cosily with Max. 

Willy’s eyebrows shot up. “The Imperator? You got good taste…but you’re on a hiding to nothing  _there_ , girl…”  

“Tell me about it…” Toast groaned then, realising that could be misinterpreted, she clarified.  

“I bet Cheedo that Furi and Max  _weren’t_  fucking.” 

“Idiot...” Willy grinned. 

* 

“Have I claimed  _you_? Properly, I mean.”  

“Do you really want to go there? War Boy courtship rituals? Not sure you know what you’re letting yourself in for…” 

“Maybe you could show me.” 

“It helps if you’re brought up to it. Being a War Boy, I mean. I was a late starter at  _twelve_. Be a bit of a shock at your age.” 

Max huffed a little. “You’re prob’ly right. Hey, look…they’re up.” 

Caleb was taking the stage for his song, a big bite mark still oozing gore. Grinning like all his Christmases had come at once. 

 _Yeah…_ Max thought… _that’s one too many for me._  

 _*_  

That had been quite a dream…she still blushed to think of it. 

It had been not long after Furiosa had agreed to help them. But she had still been silent, a strong and silent presence in the Vault. 

Furiosa smelled different to the sisters, to Giddy. She smelled of gunpowder, guzzoline, blood and sweat. It drove Toast half crazed. 

One night she dreamed… 

Furiosa had come to her in the moonlight, wordlessly offering a pair of bolt cutters in her metal hand. As Toast reached out to take them, the toothed belt came loose from her hips. 

Toast had never spoken of it to anyone, there were too many sensations to describe. Soft mouth, callused fingers, skin on skin, the salt-sweet taste of  _her. The release._ She wished she could remember  _all_  of it, not just the delicious vagueness of being unravelled, mind and body. 

She woke, drenched with sweat and wept in frustration. The belt was still fast. 

She avoided Furiosa for days. She wouldn’t be able to look her in the face. If anyone noticed, they didn’t mention it.  

But as time went on, Toast realised Furiosa was too much of a hero to her, a role model, an older sister to ever be…whatever  _that_  would be. She didn’t want to put that person on a pedestal. 

Toast didn’t need a hero in her bed. But  now, maybe she would find out what she  _did_  need.  

She and Willy crept off to a quiet corner and they kissed ‘til Toast’s jaw ached with it. That would satisfy for now. They’d maybe work round to the other stuff by and by. 

* 

“Cay-leb, Cay-leb…” the crowd chanted ecstatically as the music crackled to a start. Dag had loaned the singing box for the occasion  _and_  the precious records, and there was a fever to hear an actual recording  _plus_  their top-ranking War Boy’s own song. 

 _Yeah-yeah-yeah-yeah…yeah yeah yeah_  an unfamiliar voice pealed out from the speakers. 

Then Caleb addressed the crowd in his own hoarse voice... 

“I want all you Boys to get up on your feet…buckle your belts and put your boots on your feet…and gimme some o’that ooooold moonstomping!” 

The Boys roared and leapt to their feet as one. It was a good beat for stomping, right enough. Though some of them were bobbing more than stomping, but that worked too.   
   
“Get ready...we got three million miles to reach the moon, fellas. So let's start getting happy now...”   
_..._ _Yeah-yeah-yeah-yeah…yeah yeah yeah_ _,_ the crowd were getting the idea. 

“Now remember, I am your boss Boy speaking, my name is Caleb, alright? And remember,  _I'm the boss_!” 

 _…._ _ooooooo_ _,_  jeered a goodnatured heckler 

   
“You can see, look at my boot, or my feet, or whatever you wanna to call it…you can see I've got the biggest boots” 

 _…that’s not right!_  the same wag interjected 

“Now, when I say "sing", I want everyone to get in the groove and start singing because we're on the moon” 

There was a another voice in the background encouraging them to ‘jump and prance’ so they did. And it seemed they were  _doin_ _’ it fine_ , the voice from the speaker said so.   
   
“Ready? One time…” 

 _Yeah-yeah-yeah-yeah…yeah yeah yeah_  

   
“Now, I want all you fellas to gather around me, and we're gonna start stomping. Ready? Here we go, one time…” 

As the Boys rushed the stage, one of them realised what it was that looked different. He pointed and yelled at the top of his voice… 

“Ace!!” 

As a body, they all cheered as they saw Ace and Caleb’s matching face-wounds. 

“Claim!!!” they yelled. 

Caleb grinned happily, but Ace lost his head altogether, whooping and cheering like a half-grown Pup.

 

Furiosa put her head in her hands and laughed. “ _Oh Ace_ …”  She looked up at Max, eyes wide. “He’ll be so embarrassed in the morning.” 

“Aww. That was nice” Max beamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phyllis is singing 'Perfidia'. The Phyllis Dillon version, funnily enough.  
> https://youtu.be/ovhc7dEAjEs  
> *  
> You know how actors are always older than the characters they play? I suspect that Wasteland living would at least double that. Hence, Gillian Jones' Vuvalini character being about twenty years younger than herself. Likewise, shaving about twenty years off of Jon Iles on account of War Boys probably not getting it any easier. Anyway, just 'cos they're knocking on a bit, doesn't mean they shouldn't get any.  
> New note - I owe Jon Iles an apology for confusing him with an older actor of the same name. Oops.  
> *  
> The two dancers were doing something like this to Capable and the Drummer Boys' act. It's Dave Brubeck's 'Unsquare Dance'  
> https://youtu.be/_yExwkQYcp0  
> *  
> And, in case anyone didn't pick it up from 'Skinhead Moonstomp', Caleb's song is 'Skinhead Moonstomp', by Symarip.  
> https://youtu.be/xHDBn7TL4JM  
> *  
> As mentioned briefly, the theatrically-inclined got up a play during the early part of the evening. The playbill was stencilled on Citadel walls as follows:
> 
> The New Citadel Histrionic Society  
> presents  
> for one night only  
> The Rivals, a Comedy  
> by Richard Brindsley Sheridan
> 
> Characters in order of appearance  
> Thomas (Nan)  
> Fag (Phyllis)  
> Lucy (Karl)  
> Lydia Languish (Dek)  
> Julia Melville (Taggy)  
> Mrs Malaprop (Zal)  
> Sir Anthony Absolute (Althea)  
> Captain Jack Absolute (Cheedo)  
> Faulkland (Capable)  
> Bob Acres (Dag)  
> Boy (Willy)  
> Sir Lucius O'Trigger (Toast)  
> David (Dolores)
> 
> The librivox audiobook is very funny and really well read by various actors...apart from Lucy’s ‘So, my dear Simplicity…’ soliloquy which loses it a bit with the accent.  
> Rest assured, the Histrionic Society do not fuck about with accents. V8 be praised.  
> https://librivox.org/the-rivals-by-richard-brinsley-sheridan/  
> And Toast just had to be Sir Lucius O’Trigger…  
> “Is it for muskets or small field-pieces? Upon my conscience, Mr. Acres, you must leave those things to me.—Stay now—I'll show you.—"  
> *  
> War Boy Brad is named after Brad Roberts from the Crash Test Dummies, that song Mmm Mmm Mmm Mmm…anyone remember that one?  
> *  
> I tried and failed to get ‘proper’ evidence for a low-pitched voice causing things to vibrate enough to cause movement. Pain in the arse. It’s all ‘how vibrations cause sound’, nothing on ‘how sounds cause vibrations’. Annoying. Anyway, I can at least cite Terry Pratchett’s Maskerade. He knew all about physics. Probably.  
> “She concentrated on the notes, working her way stolidly upwards from sea-level to mountaintop, and took no notice at the start when a chair vibrated across the stage or, at the end, when a glass broke somewhere and several bats fell out of the roof.”  
> Take that.


	24. The Rivals: Prologue and Dramatis Personae

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cheedo adapts a play to her audience. Eighteenth century romcom transmogrified to a pre-apocalyptic Citadel!  
> Based almost entirely on overheard conversations among those who remember Before. Turns out some of former Wretched were avid Trekkies in their early youth. This can only go well… :/

"Well, that was disappointing..." Cheedo sighed.

"What was? Didn't you have a good time?" 

"Oh, yes...it was a Happy New Year for sure."

"What then?"

"The play. Nobody had the faintest idea what we were going on about. I wasn't too sure, myself. And I think people were only laughing because the men were wearing dresses."

"That's theatre for you. Isn't it supposed to be like that?"

"I think...maybe...it's supposed to make sense. I think maybe people in 1775 actually got the jokes."

"It's just too old, then. Don't we have any new plays?"

"No, Giddy just had old books. She said people had lots of lots of old books because they were cheaper than new ones. Something about lapsed copyright."

"I wish she was here. She'd have got the jokes."

"I miss her."

"You should write a new play."

"It'd be too hard. To write something just out of my own head. I thought, though..."

"What?"

"Maybe we could  _change_ the play. So that it made more sense to people now."

"Maybe you could." Capable patted her sister on the shoulder and smiled. Cheedo was already wandering through the lines of the play in her head. She left her to it.

*

Cheedo was at a loss, though. Their scanty and treasured stock of literature from the end of the last century amounted to little more than science books and a few scraps of coloured pages stapled together. They were mainly pictures of people, but one page seemed to list the shows that were on television one day in 1985. She wished they had more information on what life was like just Before, not hundreds of years ago. She had an inkling that the audience would be more interested in the play if it showed more recent history. It wouldn't work if she set it in the present day. It was just too alien. People didn't act like that now. They wouldn't be able to relate to the characters.

So she would have to rely on the oral tradition...

Cheedo sought out the oldest of the Citizens, asked them about their lives Before, took notes. One day she overheard an interesting conversation between some of the People. _This was way better_ , she thought, _than the stuff people were actually telling her_. So she listened, remembered names and descriptions, and made Sheridan's characters more _real_.

She listened to the singing box as she scribbled...

 

**PROLOGUE**

Back when rivers flowed with water instead of sand and people traded for gold-pressed latinum, the aquifer was a rich town. That town was called Wellspring, and those who could afford to would visit to drink the health-giving waters. It was reputed to cure sickness and give the drinker a long and happy life. But people mainly came to meet their friends, show off their wealth and to get paired. 

Thus, Wellspring prospered for twelve-month after twelve-month. But, as rumours were whispered that water was running out in the wide world, the leaders began to fear. They had no army, only men and women in bright uniforms and shiny buttons who caught thieves and fined the citizens for leaving their vehicles in the wrong place. 

The leaders of Wellspring were a class known as the Ferengi, who valued wealth above all else. Over generations, they sought to forge alliances with stronger neighbours on whom they could rely for protection when needed.  

The Klingazons were a force to be reckoned with.  Clans of warriors each led by a matriarch, they fought with fearsome bat’leth and were expert lasso handlers while riding out in battle.  

In the neighbouring region was a clan which, it just so happened, was running dangerously low on latinum.  

The Boss of that clan had a daughter. 

The recently-deceased Grand Nagus of the Ferengi had left a fine son.  

Pretty straightforward, surely… 

They didn’t bank on the young people having their own plans.  

Meanwhile, a craze sweeps the Wellspring, distracting Ferengis’ attention from profit and family duty. 

 

 **DRAMATIS PERSONAE**  

 _KLINGAZONS_  

  * **Boss Anthoni Absolute** _(Althea)_ Klingazon chief. Mother to Jak Absolute. Good natured disciplinarian. Plans to ally with the Ferengi, Wellspring’s wealthy elite. 
  * **Jak Absolute** _(Cheedo)_ Eldest daughter of Boss Anthoni Absolute. Captain in the Klingazon army, has worked her way up through the ranks from an early age. In a secret relationship with Lyd Languish, a Ferengi, to whom she has passed herself off as Beverley, an impoverished soldier of fortune. 
  * **Luck** **y** **O'Trigger**   _(Toast)_ A travelling mercenary from a Northern Klingazon clan. Plans to find a rich husband in Wellspring, and has her eye on Lyd Languish. 
  * **Missis Fang**   _(Phyllis)_ Servant to Jak Absolute. 
  * **Tommy**   _(Nan)_ Boss Anthoni’s driver. 
  * **Girl**  (Willy)                                      Servant



_FERENGI_

  * **Malaprop** _(Zal)_ Younger brother to the late Grand Nagus. Uncle and guardian to Lyd Languish. He hopes to make a strategic marital alliance with the Klingazons. 
  * **Lyd Languish** _(Dek)_ Rebelliousson of the late Grand Nagus, and nephew of Malaprop. In love with Beverley, a low-ranking Klingazon mercenary, and plans to elope with her against his uncle’s wishes. 
  * **Jool Melville**   _(Taggy)_ Cousin to Lyd Languish. His mother was a Ferengi who eloped with a Foodlander. Musician employed by Boss Anthoni to teach young Klingazons. Engaged to Faulkland, a Foodlander. 
  * **Luke**   _(Karl)_ Servant to Lyd Languish.  



_FOODLANDERS_

  * **Faulkland**   _(Capable)_ Sheep farmer. Close friend of Jak Absolute. Engaged to Jool Melville. Neighbour and friend of the late Mrs Melville.  
  * **Dag Acres**   _(Dag)_ Plant farmer adjoining the Klingazon territory. Hopes to marry Lyd Languish. 
  * **Dolores** _(Dolores)_ Servant to Dag Acres. 



**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cheedo couldn't decide whether the warlike clans should be Amazons or Klingons. So she did the only logical thing :)
> 
> She knew there were professional food-producers in the Before, people who owned the land and made their living that way on a large scale. But the word 'farmer' doesn't present itself as readily as a descriptor as it might once have done. What with the Bullet Farm and all. But, happily, one of the scraps of magazines has an advertisement for 'Foodland: The Mighty South Aussies'.
> 
> The Citadel may well have been a spa town like Bath, in another universe.
> 
> An attempt to visualise Splinter’s speculations in the comments regarding the possible costumery involved...  
> https://kirkypet.tumblr.com/post/166120219623/just-testing-a-theorylurkinghistoric-guess-you
> 
> And a wave to evenhisfacewasanalias for the ‘Patsy Cline was starting to bring everyone down’ line in https://archiveofourown.org/works/4085608/chapters/9202111


	25. The Rivals: Act One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Klingazons arrive in Wellspring. A plot discussed. Love troubles, youthful rebellion and parental tyranny.

**Scene I. The Wellspring, A Street**

Tommy crosses the stage. Enter Fang, waving after her. 

FANG Hey! Tommy! Tommy!  

TOMMY Missis Fang! Is that you? 

FANG  How’s my little revhead? Good to see you, my girl! What brings you to Wellspring? 

TOMMY Boss felt a touch of the gout comin’ on. She declared she’d give it the runaround and whoosh! we were all off at an hour's warning. 

FANG Indeed...retaliate first  _is_  the Boss’s maxim. 

TOMMY But Boss weren’t expectin’ to see the Captain here. 

FANG I’m not working for Captain Absolute now.   

TOMMY Eh? How come? 

FANG At present I am employed by a young woman by the name of Beverley. A…soldier of fortune, one might say. 

TOMMY Bit of a change for the worse there, eh? 

FANG No change at all, Tommy.  

TOMMY No? But...dint you say you’d left the young Boss? 

FANG Nope. Well, young Tommy, I’ll come clean. To cut a long story short, Captain Absolute and Beverley are one and the same person. And she is currently in her role of mercenary. 

TOMMY Well now, I smell a story! Tell, go on. 

FANG You’ll keep it quiet? 

TOMMY As a hybrid. 

FANG. Why then the cause of all this is Love...Love, Tommy, which you may have seen, has been nothing but a source of drama ever since the days of Sons and Daughters. 

TOMMY Hmm...I guessed that’d come into it...but I don’t get it, why’s she acting a mercenary? Why don’t she pass herself off as a…a Duchess or something? 

FANG Ah! Tommy, there lies the mystery of the matter. Listen, Tommy, my boss is in love with a young man of a very peculiar taste: one who likes her better as a penniless scav than if he knew she was daughter and heir to Boss Anthoni Absolute, a Klingazon Chief with three thousand bikes at her command. 

TOMMY That’s a strange one, to be sure! But what about the fella, Missis Fang? Is he rich, then? 

FANG Rich! Why, I believe he owns half the land hereabouts! He could muster a hundred convoys as easy as I could pay my bootmaker! He has a coupe plated with shiny gold, he feeds his dog with chicken meat, and he gives all his friends flying machines at Christmas. 

TOMMY Quite the catch. But has he, y’know…got an eye for the Captain? 

FANG They're like a pair of lizards. 

TOMMY What’s his name? 

FANG Lyd Languish. But there’s a tough old Uncle in the way; but, and this’ll work in our favour, he’s never seen my boss, for she got acquainted with the lad while on a visit to the Blue last winter. 

TOMMY Well, I wish they were paired tomorrow and driving off into the sunset in a shiny gold coupe. Or a flying machine, for that matter. But, Missis Fang, what kind of a place is this Wellspring? I’ve heard a fair bit about it. Party town, is it? 

FANG Pretty good, Tommy, pretty good...if you’re after a rest; in the morning we go to the pump-room, after breakfast we saunter on the terraces, play at Subbuteo or bet on the lizard races; at night there’s music and dancing; but damn the place, I'm tired of it: their regular hours bore me...everyone asleep by eleven! But Tommy, you must dress up a little, indeed you must. Here now...these coloured braids! What are you wearing those for, Tommy? None of the Wellspring drivers wear colours anymore. 

TOMMY More fool them, I say. Flaming wheels! When I heard how the Chieftains and money-wranglers had took to their own hair, I thought I’d heard it all. Flaming wheels! But I’m determined I'll never give up my colours...the Bosses and bankers can do what they like… 

FANG Well, Tommy, we'll not argue...  

TOMMY ...and it’s not like everyone's doing it, neither...for in our village now, Jacky Blue the money-taxer is wearing her ginger mane natural, but then, there's little Dick, the atomic blackthumb, swears she’ll never get rid of her rainbow brights even if all the Master Engineers show up with their own hair! 

FANG Really? Well, you tell 'em, Dick! But wait...Take a look over there, Tommy... 

TOMMY Flaming wheels! It’s the Captain! Is that the young man with her? 

FANG No, no, that's Mister Luke, my Boss’s young man’s man. That's their house. But I must go tell her the news... 

TOMMY Bit weird...She's giving him latinum! What's that all about, Missis Fang...? 

FANG Got to go, Tommy. Meet me in Ten Forward this evening at eight; I'll fill you in then.  

(exeunt severally) 

 

 **Scene II. A room in MALAPROP's house.**  

[LYD sitting at a table, fiddling with a singing box. Luke has just returned from running an errand.] 

LUKE Well, sir, I’ve been round half the town looking for it. I don't believe there's a record trader in Wellspring I haven’t tried. 

LYD And you couldn't get “Roll Over Beethoven?” 

LUKE No sir. 

LYD "Reet Petite?''  

LUKE No sir. 

LYD "Footloose? " 

LUKE Sir, sod's law, sir. Mrs. Colombia said Sally Mustang had got the last one.  

LYD Typical. Did you ask for “The Land of 1000 Dances?” 

LUKE Or “You Never Can Tell”? Yes sir, I asked everywhere for it; and I might have got it at Chess’s place, but Baron Hancock who'd had it on loan, had so scratched, it was jumpin’ all over the place. 

LYD Typical! I always know when Baron Hancock has had a record before me. He has a most careless needle. Well, young Luke, what have you brought me?  

LUKE Oh! here, sir. [Taking records from under his jacket and from his pockets.] This is “You Make My Dreams Come True”, and this “He’s The Greatest Dancer”. Here are “Too Hot To Trot” and “Boogie Oogie Oogie”.  This is “Dancing In The Street”, and here “The Harlem Shuffle”.  

LYD Nice! What's that one by the mirror?  

LUKE Only 'The Very Best of Coldplay', which I use to hit bugs, sir.  

LYD Alright then. Hand me my herbal refreshment, will you? 

LUKE Is that in a blue sleeve, sir?  

LYD The rollup, you boofhead!  

LUKE Oh, the weed! Here, sir.  

LYD Wait! Here's someone coming...quick, see who it is. [Exit LUKE ] Thought I heard my cousin Jool’s voice. [Re-enter LUKE]  

LUKE Sir, here is Mister Melville.  

LYD Can it be? [Exit LUKE] 

[Enter JOOL]  

LYD Jool! Good to see you, mate! [knock foreheads] I wasn’t expecting to see you in this old town!  

JOOL Thought I’d surprise you. But what’s the matter? You look a bit uptight. 

LYD Oh, it’s a long story. But first tell me what’s brought you to Wellspring? Is Boss Anthoni here?  

JOOL She is. We are arrived in the last hour, and I suppose she’ll be here to see Uncle Malaprop as soon as she’s unpacked.  

LYD Then before we’re interrupted, let me get this off my chest. You’ll say I’m being an idiot, but I think you’ll see my dilemma. I’ve written to you all about me and Beverley; but it’s all over, Jool! My uncle has got hold of my last note. He knows everything, and he’s been watching me like a hawk ever since! But, would you believe it? He’s smitten with a Klingazon mercenary he met one night at the Shuffle. 

JOOL You’re kidding. 

LYD No, it's true. He’s been messaging her...under a false name though, till he’s ready to be known...Zak or a Zal, something like that.  

JOOL Then I'd have thought he’d be more likely to understand your situation?  

LYD Well, you’d think so...But now he's got a woman in his sights, he's become more suspicious of me. And that’s not all…that annoying Dag Acres is to be in Wellspring today; she’ll be after me for the foreseeable... 

JOOL Don’t worry, Lyd, hope for the best. Boss Anthoni will talk Uncle Malaprop round.  

LYD But that’s not the worst of it. I’d just had a steaming row with Beverley before I got caught out, and I haven’t seen her since to make it up.  

JOOL Why, what did she do?  

LYD Nothing. But, you know how it is; it was really bugging me that we'd never had an argument, and I thought she would never give me an opportunity. So, last Thursday, I wrote a letter to myself, to inform myself that Beverley was at that time chatting up another man. I signed it ‘a friend’, showed it to Beverley, accused her of messing around, and declared we were finished. 

JOOL You let her go, and haven’t seen her since?  

l

LYD It was just the day after that Uncle found the whole thing out. I only meant to have kept her hanging three and a half days, and now I've lost her for ever.  

JOOL If she’s as keen on you as she seems to be, she won’t stand by and let you mess things up. But this whole thing doesn’t seem right, Lyd...you tell me she’s a scav barely making enough to get by and you have thirty thousand pounds of gold-pressed latinum.  

LYD But I only inherit that if I marry with my uncle’s approval, at least until I’m twenty one; and that is what I’m determined NOT to do. And if a woman asked me to wait even a day to do the thing properly, well…she would not be the one for me.  

JOOL You’re just going through a rebellious phase. A whim. A fad. 

LYD You’re talking to me about whims? I thought you’d be well used to them by now. Faulkland? 

JOOL Hey. Nobody’s perfect. Not even her. 

LYD But, hang on, she knows you’re here, right?  

JOOL Not yet. Boss Anthoni upped and brought us all here so suddenly I hadn’t time to send a message.  

LYD Jool, this is ridiculous. You've been engaged to her for a twelve-month and she keeps putting off the pairing. She's keeping you hanging. You have to put up with her moods and jealousy like she's your wife, without having any of the benefits. She doesn't deserve you, mate.  

JOOL It's not like that. It's not her fault. There have just been so many delays. First Mum died, and then there was all that trouble on the sheep station...She’s not playing games, really she's not. You don't know her as well as I do. And she’s not jealous, not really. She just worries too much. She doesn't meet many people, it's just her on that huge farm. That’s a good thing, though...she's happy like that...and I would be too... But the trouble is, she doesn't understand what I see in her, and frets that I don't love her enough. I admit, it's been difficult at times. But then, I know she's only acting this way because she loves me. 

LYD Well, I can hardly blame you for defending her. But be honest, Jool, if she hadn't saved your life, do you think you would have fallen for her? I think that brown snake must’ve bitten you after all...with some of stupid Cupid’s poison...before she leapt in and killed it. 

JOOL  I loved her before that; though sometimes I think that her saving me as she did would have been enough in itself.  

LYD What, would you pair with a saltwater crocodile if it'd done the same? Well, I'd never think of going head over heels for a woman just because she could rip a snake in half. 

JOOL Come on, Lyd, I'm being serious.  

LYD Oh, I'm only messing. Here, what now? [Re-enter LUKE in a hurry.] 

LUKE. Oh sir, here's Boss Anthoni Absolute and your uncle.  

LYD Oh, they'll hardly come in here. Luke, keep an eye out for us. [Exit LUKE]  

JOOL  Still, I should go. Boss Anthoni doesn't know I am here, and if she sees me, she'll offer to show me the town. I'll come back another time to see Uncle Malaprop... [Re-enter LUKE.]  

LUKE To warn you, sir, they're both coming upstairs.  

LYD Well, I'll not keep you. I'm sure you're in a rush to message Faulkland. [winks] There's another exit that way.  

JOOL Later! [Forehead knock, and exit.]  

LYD Here, Luke, quick, hide these records. Fling 'Theme From Shaft' under the bed...throw 'God Made Me Funky' into the cupboard...hide 'Boogie Nights' in the drawer...shove 'Night Fever' under the sofa...cram 'Barefootin’' behind that cushion...there...put 'A Town Called Malice' in your pocket—right, good —now lay Patsy Cline in sight, and leave Perry Como face-up on the table.  

LUKE. Oh sod it, sir! There’s a massive coffee ring right on Slim Dusty’s face.  

LYD Never mind—flip it over to the other side – right, throw on some Keith Urban - Now for 'em. [Exit LUKE.] [Enter MALAPROP, and Boss ANTHONI ABSOLUTE.]  

MALAPROP There, Boss Anthoni, there sits the idiot boy who wants to disgrace his family, and lavish himself on a girl not worth an ounce.  

LYD Uncle, I thought you once... 

MALAPROP You thought, pup! I don't know any business you have to think at all. Thought does not become a young Ferengi.  

LYD Uncle, what have I done to be treated like this?  

MALAPROP Now, don't try to talk your way out of this one. Once and for all, will you forget this Beverley and take a wife of my choosing? 

LYD Even if I wasn't already in love, I would object to any woman you chose for me. 

MALAPROP What business have you, pup, with love and objections? They don't become a young Ferengi; and you ought to know, that as both always wear off, it's safest in pairing to begin with a little objection. I’m sure I couldn’t stand the sight of your poor dear aunt before we were paired...and yet, pup, you know what a good husband I was! And when it pleased the good V8 to release me from her, no-one knows how grief-stricken I was! But if we were to give you _another_  choice, would you promise to give up this Beverley?  

LYD I will not! [Exit.]  

MALAPROP There's a stubborn little bastard for you! 

BOSS ANTHONI  It's no surprise to me...that's what happens when you let boys listen to this new-fangled fancy dancy music. If I had a thousand sons, by the stars, I'd as soon let them loose in a nuclear blacksmiths than a dancehall! But, Malaprop, to the more important point in debate...you say you have no objection to my proposal?  

MALAPROP None at all, you can be sure of that. I’d never agreed anything with Miss Acres, and as Lyd is so determined not to have  _her_ , perhaps your daughter may have better success.  

BOSS ANTHONI Well, sir, I will send for the girl directly. She knows nothing of this yet, though I've been thinking this over for some time. She is with her regiment as we speak.  

MALAPROP We have never seen your daughter, Boss Anthoni; but I hope she will have no objection to the match.  

BOSS ANTHONI Objection! Let her object if she dares! No, no, Malaprop, Jak knows that I won't tolerate disobedience. My process was always very simple...when she was younger, I would only have to say "Jak, do this"; if she objected, she'd get a cuff round the earhole...and if she grumbled at that, I always sent her out of the room.  

MALAPROP That's the way to manage young people, that's for certain! Well, Boss Anthoni, I shall show Miss Acres the door, and prepare Lyd to meet your daughter. And I hope you will represent my nephew to the captain as an eligible match.  

BOSS ANTHONI  I'll take care of it. Well, I must be off; and mark my words, Malaprop, take my advice...keep a tight hand: if your boy rejects this proposal, keep him confined; and if you were just to let the servants forget to bring him dinner for three or four days, you've no idea how quickly he’d change his mind. [Exit]  

MALAPROP Well, at any rate, I shall be glad to get him from under my feet. He has somehow found out my partiality for Miss Lucky O'Trigger...surely Luke can't have betrayed me...? No, the boy is such a boofhead, he wouldn't be able to carry off a trick like that. Luke!—Luke!—[ Calls.] If he had been one of your sneaky ones, I'd never have let him into my secret. [Re-enter LUKE.]  

LUKE Did you call, sir?  

MALAPROP Yes, boy. Did you see Miss Lucky while you were out?  

LUKE No sir, not a glimpse of her.  

MALAPROP You're sure, Luke, that you never said a word to anyone...? 

LUKE Oh sir! I'd sooner cut my tongue out.  

MALAPROP Well, don't let anyone take advantage of your trusting nature.  

LUKE No, sir. 

MALAPROP So, come back in a few minutes, and I'll give you another letter to Miss Lucky; but mind, Luke...if I ever find out you’ve been gossiping...about _me_ , I mean, not about other people...you'll be out on your ear; and stupidity will be no excuse! [Exit.]  

LUKE Hahaha – let's turn down the stupidity dial a little...[ Altering his manner.] There are some boys in my line of work who like to appear pretty sharp. I, on the contrary, find it pays to wear a mask of silliness with a pair of sharp eyes behind it looking out for number one! Let's see what my stupidity has earned me lately [Looks at a piece of paper] Covering for Mister Lyd Languish in his plan of running away with a mercenary! In money, twelve pennyweight of latinum; five shirts; hats, socks, scarves, etcetera etcetera, too many to count! From said mercenary, within this last moon, sixty grains. About three moons' pay! From Mister Malaprop, for betraying the young people to him...when I found their affair was on the point of being discovered...four pennyweight and a black jacket. From Miss Acres, for carrying letters...which I never delivered...two pennyweight and a pair of buckles. From Miss Lucky O'Trigger, thirty grains, two gold buttons and a silver tobacco-box! Well done, stupidity! But, for all that, I had to persuade the little Klingazon that she was in amorous negotiations with the nephew, not with the uncle. Because, although she's only after hard cash, she's still got to have  _some_  standards. [Exit.]  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive me for this...


	26. The Rivals: Act Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Captain Jak Absolute has one of those days.

**Scene I.—CAPTAIN ABSOLUTE's Lodgings.** [CAPTAIN ABSOLUTE and FANG.]  

FANG  Ma’am, I saw Boss Anthoni while I was out: I told her you had sent me to see how she was, and to know if she had any time in her schedule to see you later. 

ABSOLUTE: How did she take the news I was in Wellspring?  

FANG Ma’am, in all my life I never saw an elderly lady more surprised! She sat down, got up again, and asked, what under the stars had brought you here.  

ABSOLUTE Well, and what did you say?  

FANG Oh, I lied, ma’am—I forget the precise lie; but take it from me as an honest woman, she got no truth out of me. Having said that...for fear of making a mess of the thing, I’d be more comfortable if we agreed on the details. Boss Anthoni’s servants were curious, ma’am, very curious indeed.  

ABSOLUTE But you didn’t let anything slip, though?  

FANG Oh, not a word, ma’am,—not a word! Of course, young Tommy (whom I know to be the discreetest of revheads)—— 

ABSOLUTE Tell me you didn’t… 

FANG Oh, no, ma’am—no—no—not a syllable, upon my honour!—She was a little inquisitive; but I was ready for it, ma’am. My boss (says I), honest Tommy (you know, ma’am, one says honest to one's inferiors,) is come to Wellspring to trade—Yes, ma’am, I said to trade—and whether for parts or hearts, you know, ma’am, is a minor detail.  

ABSOLUTE Trading…yeah, okay, that might do.  

FANG Oh, ma’am, trading will do amazingly well —indeed, to give the thing a polish, I told Tommy, that your honour had already acquired fifty camels, four Yamaha and a three dozen pair of boots. 

ABSOLUTE No no...never say more than is necessary.  

FANG I beg pardon, ma’am—I beg pardon—but it’s a poor lie that doesn’t whir and click with complicated workings. Ma’am, whenever I stir up my brain for a good lie, I always make sure it’s good and intricate. 

ABSOLUTE Just be careful the whole contraption doesn’t break down when we can least afford it. Tell me, did Faulkland say what time she would call round? 

FANG Shortly after noonday, she told me. 

ABSOLUTE Does she know that Boss Anthoni and Mister Melville are in town? 

FANG I doubt it, ma’am; she and her woman arrived in town only within the hour. Oh, there’s a knock at the door… 

ABSOLUTE Go and bring her up.  

FAG Yes, ma’am.— [Going.] Just to remind you, ma’am, if you speak to Boss Anthoni, you’re in town  _trading_ , if you please.  

ABSOLUTE Yes, yes… 

FANG And, for the sake of my credibility, if you could mention the bikes and boots, I’d be much obliged to you…reason being, though I never hesitate to lie for a good cause, it’s no joke being caught out [Exit.]  

ABSOLUTE Now for my whimsical friend—if she doesn’t know her man’s here, I'll tease her a bit before I tell her——[Enter FAULKLAND.] Faulkland, good to see you in Wellspring again! [embrace] 

FAULKLAND So, what’s new? How’s it going with you and Lyd?  

ABSOLUTE Oh, no change really; I haven’t seen him since that argument; but I expect he’ll message me soon. 

FAULKLAND I don’t understand why you can’t just persuade him to elope with you. Right now, I mean. 

ABSOLUTE And lose two-thirds of his inheritance? You’re forgetting that. If it wasn’t for that, I’d have talked him into running off long ago.  

FAULKLAND So why do you need to wait? If you’re so sure of him, speak to the uncle in your own name, and message Boss Anthoni to ask for her consent. 

ABSOLUTE Ha. This is Lyd we’re talking about…he’d elope with me like a shot as  _Beverley_ , but as Captain Absolute?…with the conventional trappings of parental consent, a regular humdrum wedding, and a hefty inheritance to set us up in comfort? Not so much. I’ve got to prepare him gradually for unromantic reality...while making myself necessary to him…before I can risk it. Well, but Faulkland, you'll come for dinner tonight?  

FAULKLAND Don’t think I can...not in the mood for company.  

ABSOLUTE Oh for... Grawlix, Faulkland! Since Jool came along you’ve been insufferably mopey! Look at me…Ive got ten times more reason to fret about Lyd, but am I behaving like a character from a soapy show? Full of fears and worries and drama? 

FAULKLAND Yeah, but it’s different for you. You love Lyd, but it was all over tomorrow, you’d dust yourself off and move on, find another. But, Jak! my whole future happiness, my life, depend on Jool, and if I ever lost him...  

ABSOLUTE Hmph…But, look, what under the stars could possibly make to think you might lose him? 

FAULKLAND Thousands of things! His happiness —his health—his life!— all so precious and fragile! What if he’s missing me? Worrying about me? What’s that doing to his sensitive and artistic soul? And for his safety...aren’t there a million reasons to fear? If it rains chunks of ice, he might be hit! If flocks of sheep pass by, he might be trampled! Oh Jak! when sensitive and loving souls are separated, there is not an object in the sky, not a movement on the horizon that doesn’t give a lover reason to fear! 

ABSOLUTE Maybe so, but we can still choose whether or not to take the hint…So, then, Faulkland, if you were convinced that your Jool were well and happy, you would relax a little?  

FAULKLAND I would be over the moon — after all, that’s the only reason I’m anxious.  

ABSOLUTE Then to put you out of your misery…Mr Melville is in perfect health, and is at this moment in Wellspring.  

FAULKLAND Come on, Jak—don't mess with me.  

ABSOLUTE He arrived here with my mother less than an hour ago.  

FAULKLAND Can you be serious?  

ABSOLUTE I thought you knew Boss Anthoni better than to be surprised at a sudden manoeuvre of that sort. Seriously, then, it’s true...on the honour of a Klingazon captain.  

FAULKLAND Oh!—Hey, Du-Peigne! Bring my coat! You dear lovely Jak—nothing on earth can fret me now. [Re-enter FANG .]  

FANG Ma’am, Dag Acres has just arrived. 

ABSOLUTE Wait, Faulkland... Dag is a near neighbour of Boss Anthoni. She can tell you how your man’s been since you saw him last.—Fang, show her up. [Exit FANG.]  

FAULKLAND What, is she a close friend of the clan? 

ABSOLUTE Oh, very much so. You must stay and meet her. Besides, you’ll get a laugh.  

FAULKLAND Well, I would like to ask her a few questions.  

ABSOLUTE She’s also a rival of mine—that is, of my other self's. After all, she has no idea her friend Captain Absolute has ever met Lyd; and it is ridiculous enough to hear her sniping to me of this  _Beverley_ , some sneaky hag of a rival, who’s wheedled her way—— 

FAULKLAND Ssh!—she’s here. [Enter ACRES.]  

ACRES Hey! Good old Jak, you’re a sight for sore eyes! How’ve you been? Oh, hello, nice to meet you. Just got here, phew! Shocking traffic! Bumper to bumper all along the Fury Road. 

ABSOLUTE Dag, Dag, you’re an eccentric planet, but we know what brings you to Wellspring! Allow me to introduce my friend Faulkland; Faulkland, Dag Acres.  

ACRES Faulkland, any friend of the Captain’s is a friend of mine.—Hey, Jak—what, this is  _Foodlander_  Faulkland, who—— 

ABSOLUTE Aye, Dag, Mr Melville's Faulkland.  

ACRES There’s a coincidence! He and your mother can only have arrived a couple of hours ago. I suppose you’ve seen them already. Ah, Faulkland, you’re a lucky woman! 

FAULKLAND I have not seen Mr Melville yet;—I hope he has been well since he moved to Orchard County? 

ACRES Oh yes, he’s been a great addition to the neighbourhood.  

FAULKLAND Ah, really? I’d heard that he’d been looking a bit down. Melancholy, even. Not much of a spring in his step. 

ACRES Oh not at all! You know what rumours are like. You don’t need to worry about that, I’m certain. 

FAULKLAND There, Jak, separation doesn’t seem to hurt him at all…while I’ve been fretting myself sick over it. 

ABSOLUTE Now are you angry with your man for  _not_  moping himself silly? 

FAULKLAND No, no, don’t exaggerate...but, isn’t it pretty standard to be down in the dumps when you’re missing someone? To struggle to get up in the morning? Can’t eat, can’t sleep…Don’t you think…isn't there something wrong with this picture? 

ABSOLUTE When you put it like that…yes, it was positively insulting of him to cling to life in your absence... 

ACRES Nice hotel, Jak. 

FAULKLAND So, er...you were saying that Mr Melville has been a good addition —what then, he’s been chatty and cheerful, I suppose? A bit of a favourite among the clan, eh?  

ACRES You can be sure of that! He’s been the life and soul of the party wherever I’ve seen him - so funny and friendly – so considerate of his company – so attentive! 

FAULKLAND You hear that, Jak? Oh, men have no feelings to hurt, that’s why! Life and soul and me a hundred miles off… 

ABSOLUTE Can you hear yourself? This is ridiculous! A minute ago, the only reason you were anxious was that he  _wasn’t_  happy.  

FAULKLANDI mean... Jak, have  _I_ been the life and soul of the party?  

ABSOLUTE No, safe to say, you have not.  

FAULKLAND Have  _I_ been considerate and attentive?  

ABSOLUTE Nobody could accuse you of that. 

FAULKLAND Have _I_ been a great addition to the neighbourhood?  

ABSOLUTE No, to do you justice, you’ve been bloody boring.  

ACRES What's the matter?  

ABSOLUTE She’s Just been expressing her joy that Jool has been so well and happy—that's all—right, Faulkland?  

FAULKLAND Oh! I am so glad to hear it—yes, yes, he’s always so cheerful…great with people. 

ACRES Bloody oath!—and he’s so talented!—such a great singing voice— _amazing_  on the piano—There was this time last month—oh what a night! he had everyone on the floor at young Phoebe’s coming of age party! And  _she_  was looking so lovely too… 

FAULKLAND There. Again. What about this? you see he has been revelling with a bevy of gorgeous young Klingazons—not a thought of me! 

ABSOLUTE Oh Faulkland! Don’t you think his thoughts were with you while he played? 

FAULKLAND Well…Maybe…Tell me....—, what's her name again?—Do you remember what songs Mr Melville sung?  

ACRES Couldn’t tell you.  

ABSOLUTE Think a minute…they were some pretty maudlin tunes, I’ll bet; it might come back to you - did he sing,  _Ai_ _n’t no sunshine when she’s gone_ _.._ _._ _?_  [Sings.] 

ACRES No, not that.  

ABSOLUTE Or,  _Why does the sun keep on shining…?_  [Sings.] 

ACRES Oh, no! nothing like it. Wait! now I remember one of them— _Don’t stop me now, I’m having a_ _good time, I’m having a ball…_  [Sings.]  

FAULKLAND I knew it! Mother always said… _never get involved with a rockstar…_ and what do I go and do? Fall for one first chance I get. His head’ll be turned with all these young girls running after him…! Hardly ever thinks of me, I’ll bet!—What do you say to this, Jak?  

ABSOLUTE Well, for one thing, Jool is hardly a rockstar. Secondly, it’s nice that he’s happy doing his job, and that he’s valued for it. 

FAULKLAND Oh no, I'm not sorry that he’s been happy—no, no, I’m glad of that—I wouldn’t have wanted him to be sad—but... surely if he was really missing me, he’d be, well, singing the blues —he might have been  _broodingly_  entertaining, expressing his temporary emptiness through his music;— I bet he’s even been dancing!  

ACRES What’s that about dancing?  

ABSOLUTE She says that Jool dances as well as he sings.  

ACRES You’re right there, I must say, he has got some moves—I was invited to the clan’s last monthly get-together —— 

FAULKLAND There!—there—didn’t I tell you! I told you so! Oh...He’s living it up while I’m away!—Dancing too!—I’ve got to go—I’m losing my cool here—and that bloody woman knows it. [Going.]  

ABSOLUTE No, but stay, Faulkland, and thank Dag for her good news.  

FAULKLAND Stuff her news! [Exit.]  

ABSOLUTE Oh gods...poor Faulkland, just five minutes ago it was all —"that’s the only reason I’m anxious”! 

ACRES She wasn’t annoyed at me singing her man’s praises, was she?  

ABSOLUTE A little jealous, I think, Dag.  

ACRES Oh come on? Ha! ha! jealous of me—that's a good one!.  

ABSOLUTE There's nothing strange about that, Dag; let me tell you, that way of yours will cause a dust among the fellas here.  

ACRES Ah! You’re having me on—ha! ha! Way of mine—ha! ha! but you know I am no longer my own woman, Lyd is the one for me. He would never give me a second glance back home, because I used to dress so badly—but darn it all to heck! I’ll do things differently here, now my old man has no say in it: I'll make my old clothes know who's the boss of them. I shall chuck the overalls, and say farewell to the wellies. My hair has been in training some time.  

ABSOLUTE I can see that!  

ACRES Yep—and though the front’s having its own ideas, the rest is playing its part. 

ABSOLUTE Ah, you'll get the hang of it, I’ve no doubt.  

ACRES Absolutely I reckon so too—then if I can find this Scav Beverley, darn it all to heck! I'll make her know who she’s dealing with.  

ABSOLUTE Spoke like a woman! I don’t doubt it for a second [Re-enter FANG.]  

FAG Ma’am, there is a lady downstairs asking to see you.—Shall I bring her up? 

ABSOLUTE Yes, do. 

ACRES Well, I must be off—— 

ABSOLUTE Wait a minute; who is it, Fang?  

FANG Your mother, ma’am.  

ABSOLUTE You boofhead, why did you keep her waiting? [Exit FANG .]  

ACRES I’ll not keep you from Boss Anthoni.—I’m expecting a message from Mister Malaprop at my hotel. And my mate Lucky O'Trigger will in town too. Later, Jak! Usual place - we’ll have a drink or several to Lyd, eh? 

ABSOLUTE I’ll second that.——[Exit ACRES.] Now for a parental lecture—ugh I hope she hasn’t got wind of why I’m really here—I wish the gout had kept her grounded in Orchard County! [Enter Boss ANTHONI ABSOLUTE.] Mother Boss, good to see you here, and looking so well! When I heard you’d arrived so suddenly in Wellspring, I was concerned for your health.  

Boss ANTHONI Very concerned, I dare say, Jak.—What, you’re trading here, hey?  

ABSOLUTE Yes, ma’am, I am on regimental business.  

Boss ANTHONI Well, Jak, I’m glad to see you, though I didn’t expect it. I was about to write to you on a little matter of business.—Jak, I have been considering that I’m growing old and creaky, and probably won’t be around to trouble you much longer.  

ABSOLUTE Oh, ma’am, I never saw you look in better shape; and long may you continue so.  

Boss ANTHONI Now that you mention it, I’m inclined to agree with you. Well, then, Jak, I’ve been considering that I am in such good shape I may stick around to plague you for many years to come. Now, Jak, I’m aware that your pay, and what I’ve given you to date, is a piddling amount for an girl of your energy to live on. 

ABSOLUTE Oh, Ma’am, you’ve been very… 

Boss ANTHONI And what I want, before I get put out to pasture, is to see my girl put her stamp on the world. I have decided, therefore, to grant you a income fitting for an independent Klingazon... 

ABSOLUTE Ma’am, this is too much—too generous...  

Boss ANTHONI …and you shall be mistress of a large fortune in a few weeks.  

ABSOLUTE I have no words, ma’am, to express my gratitude….all my life I’ll be in your debt as a favoured daughter —I must ask though, ma’am...I can’t imagine you would mean me to quit the army?  

Boss ANTHONI Oh, that shall be as your husband wishes.  

ABSOLUTE My husband, ma’am? 

Boss ANTHONI Yes, Yes, you can settle that between you.  

ABSOLUTE A...husband, ma’am…did you say?  

Boss ANTHONI Aye, a husband—why, didn’t I mention him before?  

ABSOLUTE Not...a word of him, ma’am.  

Boss ANTHONI Right enough…!—I mustn't forget him though.—Yes, Jak, the independence I was talking of is by marriage—the fortune is saddled with a husband —but I suppose that makes no difference.  

ABSOLUTE Ma’am’! ma’am!—can you be serious? 

Boss ANTHONI Why, what the devil's the matter with the girl? Just now you were all gratitude and duty. 

ABSOLUTE I was, ma’am,—you talked to me of independence and a fortune, but not a word of a husband.  

Boss ANTHONI Why—what difference does that make? By the stars, miss! if you have the estate, you must take it with the livestock on it, as it stands.  

ABSOLUTE If I’m to risk my happiness, I’d just as soon leave it. Who is this man, ma’am, whom you’d have me marry?  

Boss ANTHONI If you’re going to be so obtuse, miss, I shan’t tell you...first, give me your promise to love, and to marry him directly.  

ABSOLUTE Sure, ma’am, this is not very reasonable, to expect me to fall in love with a man I know nothing of!  

Boss ANTHONI I am sure, miss, it’s more unreasonable in you to  _object_  to a man you know nothing of.  

ABSOLUTE Then, ma’am, I must confess that I’m in love with another—the man of my dreams!  

Boss ANTHONI Then it’s time to wake up. Business calls! 

ABSOLUTE But I’ve promised to marry him!   

ANTHONY Oh, unless you put it down in writing, he can’t keep you to it.

ABSOLUTE You must let me off, ma’am, once for all... in this point I cannot obey you.  

Boss ANTHONI Listen Jak;—I’ve been very patient—I have been calm; but watch it —you know how easy-going I am —when I get my own way;—but don't push me.  

ABSOLUTE Ma’am, I must repeat it—in this I  _cannot_  obey you.  

Boss ANTHONI Now damn me! if ever I call you daughter again while I live!  

ABSOLUTE Now, ma’am, do listen to me...  

Boss ANTHONI Miss, I won't hear a word—not a word! not one word! so give me your promise by a nod—and I'll tell you what, Jak—I mean, you ungrateful…—if you don't, by— 

ABSOLUTE What, ma’am, promise to tie myself for the rest of my life some rich old...!  

Boss ANTHONI  Grawlix! Miss! the man shall be as old and as ugly as I choose: he shall be as blistered as a lizard; his one eye will be as red as the setting sun; he shall wheeze like a mended bellows and have the table manners of a Buzzard and all the charm of a cabbage-slug —he shall be all this, young lady!—yet I will make you adore him. 

ABSOLUTE Well, this is all entirely reasonable!  

Boss ANTHONI None of your sneering, miss! no grinning, cheeky madam!  

ABSOLUTE I promise you, ma’am, I was never less inclined to laugh in my life.   

Boss ANTHONI None of your lip, miss! none of your tantrums, if you please!—It won't do with me, I promise you.  

ABSOLUTE I promise you, ma’am, I’ve never been calmer.  

Boss ANTHONI Well that’s a damned lie!—I know you are in a rage inside; I know you are, you hypocritical young madam! but it won't do.  

ABSOLUTE No, ma’am, that’s not the case at all—— 

Boss ANTHONI Look, you’re losing your temper! can't you be calm like me? What’s the point of losing your temper?—There, you go again, making that face! don't provoke me!—but you’re playing on the mildness of my temper—you are, you hellion! You’re playing upon the meekness of my disposition!—But be careful —even a saint has limits!—but hear this! I give you six hours and a half to think this over: if you then agree, without any condition, to do everything on earth that I ask, why—dammit! I might just forgive you, eventually.—If not, dammit! don't enter the same hemisphere with me! don't dare to breathe the same air, or use the same light with me; but get an atmosphere and a sun of your own! I'll strip you of your commission.—I'll disown you, I'll disinherit you, I'll unbirth you! and damn me! if ever I call you daughter again! [Exit.]  

ABSOLUTE Mild, gentle, considerate mother—I kiss your hand!—What a tender way of giving her opinion in these matters Boss Anthoni has! I don’t dare trust her with the truth.—I wonder what wealthy old codger it is that she wants to bestow on me!—Yet she herself paired for love! and was an audacious schemer as a girl! [Re-enter FANG.]  

FANG My word, ma’am, your mother is a raging Fury indeed; she comes down stairs eight or ten steps at a time—muttering, growling, and thumping the banisters all the way: the cook's dog and I stand bowing at the door—bop! she gives me a smack upside the head with her stick; tells me to carry that to my mistress; then, kicking the poor mutt into the yard, damns us all for a pack of mongrels!—My word, ma’am, if I were you, and I found my mother such very bad company, I would certainly drop her acquaintance.  

ABSOLUTE Quit your yap, now’s hardly the time for it.—Is this all you came in for?—Shift! [Pushes her aside, and exit.]  

FANG Oh right! I see how it is…Boss  Anthoni gives my mistress a scolding; she’s afraid to speak back to her mother—then turns round and vents her spleen on poor Fang!—To be aggravated by one person, only to take it out on the next person who comes along! the vilest injustice! it shows the worst temper—the most low-down——[Enter GIRL .]  

GIRL  Missis Fang! Missis Fang! your mistress is calling you! 

FANG Well, you dirty little brat, you don’t need to yell!—The lowest-down...! 

GIRL Quick, quick, Missis Fang!  

FANG Quick! quick! you cheeky anklebiter! am I to be ordered about by you as well? you little unmannerly, lippy, pert——[Exit kicking and beating her.] 

 

 **Scene II.—The North Tower.** [Enter LUKE.]  

LUKE So—I’ll have another rival to add to my master’s list—Captain Absolute. However, I’ll not enter her name till my pocket has received due notice. So poor Acres has been dismissed!—Well, I’ve done her a last friendly turn, letting her know Beverley’s been here.—Miss Lucky’s running late; odd that, when she expects to hear from her dear Zal, as she calls him: I wonder she's not here!—I  _almost_ feel a grain of compunction in this case; though I certainly wouldn’t be paid so well if my warrior knew that Zal was near fifty and has no tyrannical guardian to interfere. [Enter LUCKY O'TRIGGER.]  

LUCKY Ha! my little ambassador—flaming wheels, I’ve been looking for you; I’ve been on the South Tower this half hour.  

LUKE [Speaking simply.] Oh miss! and I’ve been waiting for you here on the North.  

LUCKY Ah, that’ll be why our paths didn’t cross then; and it’s sod’s law, now, how you could pass by and I not see you—for sure I was only resting my eyes at the Tavern, and I sat by the window so I wouldn’t miss you.  

LUKE You don’t say! Now I'd bet an ounce I went by while you were asleep.  

LUCKY  Sure enough, that must have how it happened —and I had no notion it was so late, till I woke. Well, my young fella, how’s your master today? 

LUKE Ah! Miss Lucky, if you were to hear how he talks of you!  

LUCKY  Oh, tell him I'll make him the best wife in the world!—But we must get the old man’s consent—and do everything fairly.  

LUKE Now, Miss Lucky, I thought you weren’t rich enough to be so particular!  

LUCKY  My word, young man, you’ve hit it:—I’m so poor, I can't afford  _not_  to play by the rules.—If I didn’t want money, I'd run away with your master and his fortune quite happily.—However, my lad, [Gives him money] have a pint on me, and take a little kiss so you don’t forget me. [Kisses him.]  

LUKE Oh my word! Miss Lucky—I never saw such a lady! My master won't like you if you're so free. 

LUCKY  Oh he will, Luke!—That same—pff! what's the name of it?—modesty—is a quality in a lover more praised by the men than liked; so, if your master asks you whether Lucky ever gave you a kiss, tell him fifty, my lad.  

LUKE What, would you make me a liar?  

LUCKY  Oh yeah? Then I'll make it true enough…! 

LUKE Ssh! Behave yourself! Here’s someone coming.  

LUCKY  Oh, don’t you worry, I'll spare your reputation [Exit, humming a tune.] [Enter FANG.]  

FANG Excuse me! What are you up to? 

LUKE Oh my heart! Missis Fang —you startled me! 

FANG A word in your ear, Luke, here's nobody around —so a little less of that fakery, if you please.—You play false with us, lad.—I saw you give the Northern mercenary a letter.—My boss’ll know this—and if she don't call her out, I will.  

LUKE Ha! ha! ha! you women’s women are so hasty.—That letter was from Mister Malaprop, boofhead. — he’s got an eye for young Miss Lucky O’Trigger.  

FANG What? The tastes some people have!—Hmph, I reckon I’ve walked by his door a hundred times.—But what says our young man? any message to my mistress?  

LUKE Sad news, Missis Fang.—A worse rival than Acres! Boss Anthoni Absolute has proposed her daughter.  

FANG What...Captain Absolute?  

LUKE True enough —I overheard it all.  

FANG Ha! ha! ha! very good, that. Good-bye, Luke, I’m away to pass on the news.  

LUKE You may well laugh—but it’s true, I promise you.—[Going.] But, Missis Fang, tell your boss not to worry! 

FANG Oh, she'll be so put out!  

LUKE And tell her not to think of challenging young Absolute.  

FANG No worries! 

LUKE Tell her to keep her chin up! 

FANG Oh I will—I will. [Exeunt severally.]  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Costume selections for the play are HERE  
> https://kirkypet.tumblr.com/post/166495516083/the-rivals-fury-road-style
> 
> Everyone got to pick their own. They have a handful of magazines from 1985 as resources (TV Week, Smash Hits and Juke). Toast just went whoa...that one. She wishes she could lift a man over her head.


	27. The Rivals: Act Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jak Absolute shamelessly brownnoses her mother and Mister Malaprop. Faulkland is difficult, to say the least. Lucky O'Trigger is a very bad influence.

**Scene I—The North Tower.** [Enter CAPTAIN ABSOLUTE.]  

ABSOLUTE [Laughs] You couldn’t make it up! My mother wants to force me on the very man I’m plotting to run away with! I can’t tell her the truth…at best, she’d charge in like a wrecking ball and obliterate the whole delicate situation. I’ll have to go to her straight away and tell her I’ve changed my mind. It’ll be a sudden conversion, true —but I can be very sincere when I have to be. Oh hey—here she comes. She still looks pretty mad. [Steps aside.] [Enter Boss ANTHONI ABSOLUTE.]  

BOSS ANTHONI No—I'll die sooner than forgive her. Die, did I say? No, that’d make things too easy for the girl. I say I’ll live another fifty years to plague her. She  almost made me lose my temper! An obstinate, wilful, stubborn little madam! Who can she take after? This is my thanks for birthing her before all her sisters and brothers!—for putting her, at twelve years old, into a marching regiment, and allowing her almost a whole ounce of latinum a year besides her pay ever since! But I’m done with her; she's anybody's daughter but mine. I never will see her again, never—never—never. 

ABSOLUTE [Aside, coming forward.] Time to put on my repentant face. 

BOSS ANTHONI I don’t know you, girl, step aside. 

ABSOLUTE Ma’am, you were right and I was wrong... 

BOSS ANTHONI Arguing still, I see! …wait, what?.  

ABSOLUTE …and I wanted to find you, to say I’d made a huge mistake and so... 

BOSS ANTHONI So? 

ABSOLUTE I have been recollecting my younger days and everything you’ve done for me… 

BOSS ANTHONI Go on, miss. 

ABSOLUTE …and what devoted respect the clan have for you….  

BOSS ANTHONI Well, madam?  

ABSOLUTE So then ma’am, I concluded that only a fool would fail to do exactly as you command.  

BOSS ANTHONI Why now you talk sense—absolute sense—I never heard anything more sensible in my life. Dammit! you shall be Jak again.  

ABSOLUTE Delighted to be so, ma’am.  

BOSS ANTHONI Why then, Jak, my dear Jak, I will let you into the secret of who the lad really is. If it weren’t for your tantrums, you silly girl, I’d have told you in the first place. Prepare, Jak, for swooning and rapture—wait for it... What would you think of…Lyd Languish? 

ABSOLUTE Languish! What, the Languishes of Castle Grayskull? 

BOSS ANTHONI Castle Grayskull? No! Did you never meet Mister Malaprop and his nephew, young Mister Languish? who came into our county just before you were last ordered to your regiment?  

ABSOLUTE Malaprop? Languish? Doesn’t ring a bell.. Wait—I think something’s coming back to me. Languish...Languish...Wonky teeth? Cross-eyed, looks like he’s trying to see up his own nose?  

BOSS ANTHONI Cross eyes? Wonky teeth? Grawlix, no! 

ABSOLUTE Probably not the same person, then.  

BOSS ANTHONI  He’s the very Prince Charming! 

ABSOLUTE Oh, ma’am, I’m not bothered about that. If I can please you in the matter, that’s the main thing.  

BOSS ANTHONI No, but Jak, such eyes! such eyes! so innocently wild! so bashfully teasing! A glance that would send any woman down a winding path of daydreams! Then, Jak, his hair! his hair, Jak! So elegantly tousled! Then, Jak, his lips! So entrancingly shiny! 

ABSOLUTE [Aside.] That's him, indeed. Well done, mother dear.  

BOSS ANTHONI Then, Jak, his clothes! O Jak! Jak! 

ABSOLUTE And which am I to pair with, ma’am, the nephew, or the uncle?  

BOSS ANTHONI What’s the matter with you, girl? When I was your age, a description like that would have made me fly like a rocket! The uncle indeed! Dammit! when I ran away with your father, I wouldn’t have touched anything old or ugly to win an empire.  

ABSOLUTE Not even to please your mother, ma’am? 

BOSS ANTHONI To please my mother! Ha! That’s a good one…not to please—Oh, my mother —hmm, well!—yes—yes; if my mother indeed had wanted me to —that's quite another matter. Though she wasn’t the indulgent mother that I am, Jak.  

ABSOLUTE I dare say not, ma’am. 

Boss ANTHONI But, Jak, you  _are_  glad to hear Lyd’s a good looking lad, aren’t you?  

ABSOLUTE Ma’am, if I can make you happy, that’s all that matters. Not that I think any the worse of a man for being a bit of a spunk…but, ma’am, I think you hinted something about him having skin like a lizard, one eye…? Of course, it would be preferable to have a husband  _without_  deformities, if only for the sake of the neighbours… 

BOSS ANTHONI  I can’t believe my ears! What’s the matter with you, girl? You, a soldier? By the stars, I’m starting to think I’ll marry the boy myself! It would be a waste not to!

ABSOLUTE It’s entirely up to you, ma’am: if you’d like to make an offer to Mister Languish yourself, I suppose there’s always the uncle; or if you should change your mind, and take the old man—it’s all the same to me—I'll wed the nephew.  

BOSS ANTHONI My word, Jak, you’re either a hell of a hypocrite, or—but, come on, I know you can’t mean it —I'm sure you don’t —come, now—damn your demure face!—come on, admit it Jak—you’ve been playing me, haven’t you? You’ve been having me on, eh? I'll never forgive you, if you aren’t having me on! 

ABSOLUTE I'm shocked, ma’am, that my respect for you to you could possibly seem insincere, not to mention my sense of duty. 

BOSS ANTHONI Away with your respect and duty! But come along with me, I'll message Mister Malaprop, and you’ll go and visit the lad this very minute. He’ll light your fire for you, just see if he doesn’t—come along, I'll never forgive you, if you don't come back stark mad about the boy —if you don't, bloody hell,  I  _w_ _ill_  marry him myself! [Exeunt.] * * * * * * * 

 

 **Scene II—JOOL’s** **room.** [FAULKLAND sits alone.]  

FAULKLAND They told me Jool would be back soon; I wonder what’s keeping him. Oh, I’ve been such a dill! I can see that, now I’ve cooled down a bit. This isn’t me. There’s only one thing that makes me act like that, and to  _him_  too _…_ the person I love more than life. I just can’t seem to stop myself. And he looked so made up to see me! I planned to make my annoyance obvious but, when I saw him, I was too ashamed. And Boss Anthoni was there, so I could hardly say anything…but…I just need to hear him say he’s missed me, just a little bit. Oh, I hear him coming! I could tell his step anywhere. And he’s hurrying, he knows I’m here... [Enter JOOL.]  

JOOL You’re back! I didn’t think you’d have a chance to come again so soon. 

FAULKLAND Well, it was hardly much of a reunion with Boss Anthoni in the room, was it? 

JOOL Oh Faulkland, I’m so glad you came back…I couldn’t help but think you seemed a bit off with me earlier. 

FAULKLAND What? No! What an imagination...didn’t I look glad…? It was good to see you in such good…good...why would you think there was anything wrong? 

JOOL Okay now I know something’s the matter. Talk to me, what is it? 

FAULKLAND Well, then—if you must know, I was a bit put out to hear that you’d been having such a good time without me. The parties and the concerts and dancing and no sad songs anywhere! While I’ve been miserable, missing you every waking hour…pretty much all the time, since I can’t sleep…and that’s how it should be. The smallest smile would be a betrayal of our love while you’re not with me. 

JOOL [Sighs] Oh Faulkland! How can a few words from gossiping neighbours shake your belief in me? 

FAULKLAND They don’t shake me, Jool : No, no—I am happy if you’ve been having a tolerable time—but, I’d feel more comfortable if I thought you were putting up a front—that you thought of me on the dancefloor.  

JOOL I never stop missing you. If I wear a mask on these occasions, it’s to show I have confidence in our relationship. If I seemed down, the gossips would have a field day. Believe me, Faulkland, you don’t know how often I wished I could just sit in the corner...but I can’t, because then people would speculate as to what’s wrong, and I’m not prepared to let that happen.  

FAULKLAND You’re too good to me. Oh, I hate myself for saying these things to you!  

JOOL And I would hate myself if I ever stopped loving you one iota without good reason…I’d be an empty-souled, ungrateful… 

FAULKLAND Ungrateful…Ask yourself, Jool, and answer truthfully; do you really love me, or do you just feel you owe me for saving you from a snake bite? 

JOOL So what can I say I love about you? 

FAULKLAND Nothing! If you love my mind, I'm only as good as a friend. And sometimes I wish I was hideous, so I’d know you weren’t just with me for my looks. 

JOOL You’re complaining about being beautiful? Besides, I’m hardly so superficial as that. I’m surrounded by stunning Klingazon warriors all day everyday…am I in love with them? 

FAULKLAND Oh, great - that’s just great—I don’t care if I’m beautiful or not—but if you really truly loved me, you wouldn’t even notice a stunning Klingazon. 

JOOL I can't say anything right! But, count to ten - when mother blessed us on her deathbed…we promised to look after each other, no matter what... 

FAULKLAND That’s another thing. If your mother hadn’t set us up together as she did, would you ever have chosen me?  

JOOL Well, if it’ll make you feel better, lets try that. If we forget the promise to my mother, and tear up the record of our betrothal…I’d still choose you every time!  

FAULKLAND Wow, you're clearly ready to get rid of me. Surely, if you really loved me, you wouldn’t let me go, even though I asked you to! 

JOOL Oh, this is torture! you’re twisting everything I say! I can’t take any more of this! 

FAULKLAND I’m not trying to torture you. If I loved you less I wouldn’t worry like this. But listen. My worry is this: men don’t tend to be very…analytical…about their feelings; they might mistake admiration, gratitude, even practical considerations for love. Not to be a total figjam but, what with the inheritance and being still young and not bad looking—it seems only right for me to be cautious…  

JOOL  I can't believe you'd think such a thing…[Exit, in tears.]  

FAULKLAND Oh, I’ve made him cry! Wait, Jool, please, let me explain.—He’s locked the door!—Jool!—my love —do let me explain!—I hear him sobbing!— Oh gods! How could I…? But, wait!—Yes—he’s coming now:—how little consistency men have!—how little it takes to talk them round!—But no, it’s all gone quiet!—he’s not coming after all.—Oh Jool —my darling—say you forgive me—that’s all I ask. Oh come on, he’s taking it too far now. Wait! He is coming too—I thought he would - so inconsistent: just trying to mess with my head—I won’t let him see I was hurt by his storming off.—I'll act like I don’t care —[hums a tune; then listens.] No—damn it, he’s not coming!—no intention to, I suppose.—This isn’t consistency, just stubbornness! But I deserve it. To behave like this after such a long absence! I’ll go – I don’t think I could look him in the face if I saw him now. I won’t push him, I’ll wait for his forgiveness. And if I ever do this again, he can leave me alone with my own despicable moods for company! And then, as penance, I’d pair with some cranky old bastard and be miserable for life. [Exit.] * * * * * * *  

 

 **Scene III – Mister** **MALAPROP's Lodgings.** [MALAPROP, with a letter in his hand, and CAPTAIN ABSOLUTE.]  

MALAPROP Your being Boss Anthoni’s daughter, would be a sufficient recommendation in itself, Captain; but, on your own conspicuous merit, I am honoured by your wish to court my nephew.  

ABSOLUTE Permit me to say, sir, that as I have not yet had the pleasure of seeing young Mister Languish, my principal inducement in this affair is the honour of being allied to the Wellspring Ferengi; of whom Mister Malaprop is, to many who understand these matters, the most celebrated representative. 

MALAPROP Captain, you do me infinite honour! I beg, ma’am, you'll be seated.—[ They sit.] Ah! few people, nowadays, know how to value the qualities essential for leadership. In truth, the true burden of state lies upon the deputy rather than the figurehead. 

ABSOLUTE It is but too true, indeed, sir;—when you consider that leaders too often have either wisdom or charisma —it’s the toss of a coin which attribute will land uppermost – only rarely,  like in your own case sir, does the coin land on its edge!  

MALAPROP Ma’am, you overpower me with politeness!  You are not ignorant, captain, that this buffoon of a boy has somehow contrived to fix his affections on a beggarly, strolling, eaves-dropping mercenary, whom none of us have seen, and nobody knows anything of. 

ABSOLUTE Oh, I have heard the silly affair before.—I'm not at all prejudiced against him on that account.  

MALAPROP You are very good and very considerate, captain. I am sure I have done everything in my power since I discovered the affair; long ago I positively commanded him never to think of the girl again;—I have since laid Boss Anthoni’s proposal before him;  but, I am sorry to say, he seems resolved to decline.  

ABSOLUTE It must be very distressing, indeed, sir.  

MALAPROP Oh! It is very provoking.—I thought he had desisted from corresponding with her; but, behold, this very day, I have intercepted another letter from the girl; I believe I have it in my pocket.  

ABSOLUTE [Aside.] Oh, Grawlix! my last note.  

MALAPROP Aye, here it is.  

ABSOLUTE [Aside.] Aye, my note indeed! Oh that sneaky little bastard Luke.  

MALAPROP There, perhaps you may know the writing. [Gives her the letter.]  

ABSOLUTE I think I recognise it — yes, I certainly must have seen it before—— 

MALAPROP Read it, captain.  

ABSOLUTE [Reads.]  _My Prince Charming, my adorable Lyd! All this about your latest admirer worries me no end, especially as this new rival——_  

MALAPROP That's you, ma’am.  

ABSOLUTE [Reads.] _…is a reputed badass and an all-round ace Klingazon_  - Well, that’s polite enough. 

MALAPROP Oh, she’s up to something, I’ll bet. 

ABSOLUTE I guarantee it, sir.  

MALAPROP But go on, captain —you'll get to the worst part shortly. 

ABSOLUTE [Reads.] _As for the lofty old codger who guards the door_ —Who can he mean by that?  

MALAPROP Me, ma’am!—me!—she means me!—There—what do you think now?—but go on a little further. 

ABSOLUTE Oh the cheek!—[ Reads.] _But no worries, I’ll get past him without much trouble, since I don’t rate the judgement of someone who aspires to Grand Nagus when they’re about as much use as an ashtray on a motorbike …_  

MALAPROP There, ma’am, an attack upon my leadership skills! what do you think of that?—an aspersion upon my many talents! was ever such a barbarian!  

ABSOLUTE She deserves to be hanged and quartered! let me see—[ Reads.] _ashtray on a motorbike_ —— 

MALAPROP No need to read it again, captain. 

ABSOLUTE Beg pardon, sir.—[ Reads.] _so it’ll be easy to pull the wool over his eyes with a bit of flattery and general brown-nosing —_ oh how dare she! _—I’ve got a plan to see you shortly with the old galoot’s consent, and even to make him a go-between in the process_.—Unbelievable!  

MALAPROP Did you ever hear anything like it?—she'll get past me without trouble, will she—yes, yes! ha! ha! She's very likely to enter these doors;—we'll see who can plot best!  

ABSOLUTE So we will, sir—so we will! Hahaha! She doesn’t know who she’s dealing with, clearly! hahaha!—Well, but Mister Malaprop, as the young gentleman seems so infatuated by this mercenary, suppose you were to turn a blind eye to his corresponding with her for a little while —let him even plot to run away with her—you’d set up his escape—while I, just in the nick of time, will engineer some dramatic scene whereby I rescue Mister Languish from terrible danger and win his heart myself.  

MALAPROP I’m sure I’ve never heard a better plan!  

ABSOLUTE But, sir, could I see the gentleman for a few minutes now?—I would like to see how strong his inclinations are. 

MALAPROP Why, I don't know—I’m sure he’s not prepared for a visit of this kind. There is a decorum in these matters, you must be aware.  

ABSOLUTE Oh! he won't mind me—only tell him Beverley—— 

MALAPROP What’s that? 

ABSOLUTE [Aside.] Careful now...  

MALAPROP What did you say about Beverley?  

ABSOLUTE Oh, I was going to suggest that it'd be funny to tell him that Beverley was waiting to see him; he’d come down fast enough then—hahaha!  

MALAPROP He’d well deserve it; besides, you know the mercenary tells him she'll get my consent to see him—haha! Let her try! Lyd, come down here!—[ Calling.] She’ll make me a go-between, will she? hahaha! Come down, Lyd! I don't wonder at your laughing, hahaha! her arrogance is truly ridiculous.  

ABSOLUTE Very ridiculous, sir, hahaha!  

MALAPROP The little bastard’s ignoring me. Well, I'll go and tell him who it is—that Captain Absolute is come to see him. And I'll make him behave as becomes a young Ferengi.  

ABSOLUTE Whatever you think best, sir. 

MALAPROP So I’ll take my leave of you, captain, it’s been a pleasure. Ah! you've not done laughing yet, I see—get past me easily; yes, yes; hahaha! [Exit.] 

ABSOLUTE Ha! As tempting as it is to throw off all disguise at once and meet Lyd under my own name, it’d be a damn stupid thing to do. No, I must keep up the act a little longer. I'll see whether he recognises me. [Walks aside, and seems engaged in looking at the pictures.] [Enter LYD.]  

LYD Ugh! This is going to be awful! To be flirted at when you’re not interested and can’t get away. I’ve heard of men who’ve appealed to the romantic side of a woman - telling them a sob story about being cruelly kept from their one true love —suppose I could try that—there she is—an Klingazon too!—but not a patch on my Beverley! I wonder why she doesn’t come over —probably trying to play it cool - Hmph, that's pretty arrogant!—I suppose I’ll have to speak first—Captain Absolute! 

ABSOLUTE Sir. [Turns round.]  

LYD Oh charity! Beverley!  

ABSOLUTE Ssh! Ssh, my Prince!  

LYD I can’t believe it! Oh gods, is it safe? This is amazing!—are you a ninja? how did you get in? 

ABSOLUTE Long story. I’ve tricked your uncle —I heard Captain Absolute was due to call round this evening, so I punctured her tyres and passed myself off as her to your uncle. 

LYD Oh wow! And he really thinks you’re young Absolute? 

ABSOLUTE Oh, he’s convinced of it.  

LYD Oh that’s hilarious! I knew the old man was a brick short of a load. 

ABSOLUTE But we haven’t much time—this may be our only chance; do tell me, my Prince, when can I take you away from all this? 

LYD Oh Beverley, you’d give up my inheritance?—it’s such a heavy shackle to a free spirit! 

ABSOLUTE Oh, if you’d be my own ragged Prince—rich only in your own dear self! I want nothing but your love— that’s more than I could ever hope for—you know it’s all I have to offer in return.  

LYD [Aside.] That’s exactly what I wanted to hear…  

ABSOLUTE Oh Lyd, picture it! On the open road, alone with my bike and your music box! We won’t need money as long as we’re together. Curled up in an abandoned train wagon, we’ll claim the protection of Love; ridiculing all worldly trash, caring about nothing but each other. And as we wither under the pitiless sun, we will live on nothing but our pure love, which outshines even the glare that grills us. By the stars! I would fling all food and drink from me right now if it meant I could hold my Lyd to my heart, and say 'the world offers me nothing more precious than this' —[ Embracing him.] [Aside.] If that doesn’t do it, I’m screwed. 

LYD [Aside.] I could ride with her into the sunset right now! But I’m having too much fun to cut this short [Re-enter MALAPROP, listening.]  

MALAPROP [Aside.] I’ve got to find out how the stroppy little bastard’s conducting himself.  

ABSOLUTE You’ve gone awfully quiet, Lyd. It’s not like you. 

MALAPROP [Aside.] So!—he’s been free with his opinions, has he? 

LYD Not at all, I’m merely pausing for breath. 

MALAPROP [Aside.] An ill tempered little bugger! He’ll fly off again in a minute, I suppose! 

LYD I mean, it’s not as if that old codger’s ridiculous threats could carry any weight with me.  

MALAPROP [Aside.] Very dutiful, upon my word!  

LYD He can pair with Captain Absolute himself if he likes, but I’m Beverley’s ‘til the end! 

MALAPROP [Aside.] I can’t believe he’d be so rude!—to her face as well! 

ABSOLUTE Oh Lyd, now and for all…put me out of my misery... [Hands clasped to her breast dramatically.]  

MALAPROP [Aside.] Aye, poor young woman!—She’s miserable without him!—I can listen no longer.—[ Coming forward.] Why, you little mongrel!—I have overheard you.  

ABSOLUTE [Aside.] Sprung! he’s been earwigging all along!  

MALAPROP Captain Absolute, I cannot begin to apologise for his shocking rudeness.  

ABSOLUTE [Aside.] Phew!.—[ Aloud.] I have hopes, sir, that time will bring the young gentleman —— 

MALAPROP Oh, there's nothing to be hoped for from him! 

LYD What do you accuse me of now?  

MALAPROP Why, you’ve got some front—didn't you tell this lady to her face that you wanted to pair with another woman?—didn't you say you would never be hers? 

LYD No, sir —I did not.  

MALAPROP Lyd, Lyd, you ought to know that lying don't become a young Ferengi…unless for financial reasons. Didn't you boast that Beverley, that scav Beverley, possessed your heart forever?—Tell me that, I say.  

LYD That is true, sir, and no-one but Beverley—— 

MALAPROP Zip it, pup! Don’t be so rude! 

ABSOLUTE Come on, Mister Malaprop, don't stop the young man’s speech: he’s very welcome to talk so —it does not hurt me in the least, I assure you.  

MALAPROP You are too good, captain—too good and patient—but come with me, pup.—Come back again soon, captain—remember what we talked about.  

ABSOLUTE I shall, sir.  

MALAPROP Lyd, take a graceful leave of the captain.  

LYD A million kisses to my Beverley, my own Bev— 

MALAPROP Pup! I'll wring your neck!—come along—come along. [Exeunt severally; CAPTAIN ABSOLUTE kissing her hand to LYD—Mister MALAPROP bundling him out the door.] * * * * * * *  

 

 **Scene IV—ACRES' Lodgings. [** ACRES, as just dressed, and DOLORES.]  

ACRES Be honest, Dolores —do you think it suits me? 

DOLORES You shine up something spectacular, Miss! You’ll be on the cover of Who within a month, I’ll bet!  

ACRES Fashion does matter, Dolores. 

DOLORES It’s all in all, I think.—Say you showed up at Verdant Acres in that getup, I’m sure your old man wouldn't know you: Missis Butler would roll out the red carpet and Mister Pickle his book of famous scribble names for you to write yours in. The shock might stop the combineharvester from shouting for two minutes, and I bet young Davy Tester would blush like a tomato. 

ACRES There’s nothing like a bit of gloss, Dolores. 

DOLORES That’s what I say about your boots; but the girl just ignores me...

ACRES But, Dolores, has Madame De-la-Grace been in touch yet? I must practice my vogueing. 

DOLORES I'll call again, ma’am.  

ACRES Do—and see if there are any letters for me at the post-office.  

DOLORES I will.—You know, I can't help looking at your head!—if I hadn't been by at the welding, damned if I’d have known the Rig again myself! [Exit.]  

ACRES [Practising a pose.] Step, turn—look back – Damn these fashion magazines! It’s like a black art to us country Foodlanders—it used to be enough to brush my hair a hundred times before bed and slick on a bit of lippy for a party.—! I was always turned heads at the Young Foodlanders ball! But these city styles are something else! The makeup’s alright, not so scary-looking as at first. But the Big Hair! If it doesn’t stand on end, you’re nobody. Look at my head! Two hours and four combs I'll never see again! [Enter SERVANT.]  

SERVANT Here's Miss Lucky O'Trigger to see you, ma’am. 

ACRES Show her in. [Exit SERVANT.] [Enter LUCKY O'TRIGGER.]  

LUCKY Dag Acres, good to see you, my girl! 

ACRES Lucky! [hugs]  

LUCKY So, girl, what’s brought you to Wellspring?  

ACRES Ugh! I’ve followed a man, and it’s served me as well as might have been expected.—In short, I have been thoroughly shat upon, Lucky. Naming no names, but I am the proverbial woman scorned.  

LUCKY But what’s happened?—naming no names of course. 

ACRES Listen to this, Lucky, I fall head over heels with a good looking fella, big bikkies too —his family are all in favour — I follow him to Wellspring —send word that I’m here; and receive answer, that he’s otherwise engaged. This, Lucky, I call being shat on.  

LUCKY That’s bang out of order. Any idea why?  

ACRES Well, that’s the thing; he’s got another woman, one Beverley, who is now in Wellspring. Some bimbo! She must’ve stepped in while I was away.

LUCKY A rival in the case, is there?—and you think she’s taken your man unfairly?  

ACRES Unfairly! Well, yeah! She never could have done it fairly. 

LUCKY Then sure you know what you’ve got to do! 

ACRES Um. No? 

LUCKY We carry no bat’leth here, but you know what I’m getting at. 

ACRES What? fight her? 

LUCKY Well, yeah. What else is there?  

ACRES But she’s given me no provocation.  

LUCKY She’s given you the greatest provocation in the world. Can a woman commit a bigger crime than to fall in love with the same man? Oh, by the stars! The most unpardonable breach of friendship.  

ACRES Breach of friendship! Well, yeah, it would be if we were friends. But we’re not. I’ve never even met her.  

LUCKY That doesn't matter—in that case, she has even less right to take that kind of a liberty.  

ACRES Dammit, that's true—that’s a good point! Okay, I’m getting riled up now! But couldn't I just argue my point instead? 

LUCKY Why stop at arguing when your honour's concerned? Do you think Achilles or my little Alexander the Great ever paused to argue their point? No, by the stars, they drew their blades, and left a bunch of lawyers to settle the justice of it. 

ACRES True again! Courage must be catching! I definitely do feel a kind of warrior instinct rising up in me. Dammit! I'll have words with her, and more if honour demands it.  

LUCKY Ah, my little friend, if I had Blunderbuss Hall here, I could show you the O'Trigger family trinkets! The chieftain's house and lands might've slipped through my fingers, I thank the stars our family honour stands defiant still.  

ACRES I’ve had ancestors too!—every one of them mayor or tax accountant. Grandad might never have killed a man outright, but he could do considerable damage with a well-placed final demand. Dammit! say no more—I'm fired up for it. Bring it on!!! 

LUCKY Alright, but calm down - these things need to be done with a cool head.  

ACRES I must be fired up, Lucky —I must be in a rage. Lucky, be a dear and let me be in a rage. Come on, here's pen and paper. [ Sits down to write.] I wish the ink was red! A proper colour for a challenge! How to start? Dammit! It’ll be in shouty capital letters, that's for sure.  

LUCKY Just calm yourself.  

ACRES Come on, now, shall I begin with a swear? Go on, Lucky, let me start with a damn.  

LUCKY No no! do the thing decently, and like a warrior. Begin now— _Madam..._

ACRES Pff! Polite...  

LUCKY  _To prevent the confusion that might arise..._

ACRES Carry on...

LUCKY  _From our both addressing the same gentleman..._

ACRES Yeah, that’s thing —same gentleman —well— 

LUCKY  _I shall expect the honour of your company..._

ACRES Dammit! I'm not asking her to dinner.  

LUCKY Will you settle down! 

ACRES Well, then, _honour of your company..._

LUCKY  _To settle our pretensions..._

ACRES Exactly! 

LUCKY  _In the new Thunderdome._

ACRES So, that's done—Wait, need to add an angry face – there!  

LUCKY There now! This'll clear up any confusion or misunderstanding between you.  

ACRES Exactly, we don't want any misunderstanding. 

LUCKY You’d be as well to do it this evening: so whatever happens, you’ll not have to worry your head about it tomorrow.  

ACRES Very true.  

LUCKY So if I don’t hear otherwise, I’ll see you this evening at the Thunderdome. I’d deliver your message myself; but, between ourselves, I reckon I’ll have something similar on the cards. There’s a Captain here who I've heard taking the piss out of my hometown, and as soon as I cross paths with the lady, I’ll be calling her out. 

ACRES Now you mention it, it’d be an education to see you fight first. Dammit! I'd be glad to see you kill her, just to learn how it's done.  

LUCKY I’d be happy to teach you. Well, til later—but remember, when you meet your antagonist, be calm and polite. Your courage should be like you bat'leth - sharp-edged and polished! [Exeunt severally.]  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's so much easier to 'write' this with the visual image of the characters as 80s icons. Captain Absolute as Kate Bush in leather, Lyd Languish in Adam Ant Prince Charming mode, Dag Acres as 80s fashion victim (chasing the Cyndi Lauper/'Holiday' Madonna look), Jool Melville as Morten Harket, Faulkland as Kylie-Minogue-next-door and Lucky O'Trigger as Grace Jones. Not to mention Mister Malaprop and Luke as Basil Fawlty and Manuel respectively.  
> https://kirkypet.tumblr.com/post/166495516083/the-rivals-fury-road-style  
> And I get to throw in the Thunderdome!! XD
> 
> Minor notes:  
> The line about Dag Acres's grandad was borrowed from 'Interesting Times' (Six Beneficient Winds, specifically)  
> Cheedo thinks a combine harvester is a job description. Which is fair enough.


	28. The Rivals: Act Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jak Absolute’s luck has run out.

**Scene I—ACRES' Lodgings.** [ACRES and DOLORES.]

DOLORES Oh, ma’am! I’d do no such thing—it’d take more than Miss Lucky O'Trigger to make me fight when I hadn’t a mind to. Flaming wheels! What’ll the old man say, when he hears about it?

ACRES But Dolores, if you’d only heard her! She would've brought out the warrior in even you!

DOLORES No chance, I hate those vultures. Listen, ma’am, if you wanted to challenge the lady with your fists I wouldn’t be trying to talk you out of it: but those fearsome looking spiky blades, they’re nothing but bad news.

ACRES But my honour, Dolores! I’ve got to look after my honour.

DOLORES Sure, sure - as long as your honour looks after you in return.

ACRES Dammit, Dolores, no woman of standing can risk the loss of her honour!

DOLORES Then it’d be only fair if her honour didn’t risk the loss of her. Listen, ma’am, this honour’s a bad kind of friend, as far as I can see. Let’s pretend I’m a woman of standing (which, thank gods, no one can say of me) - well, my honour gets my heckles up against another lady of my acquaintance. So, we fight...pleasant enough that...Stab! I kill her (the more's my luck!) Tell me, who gets credit? My honour does. But if she kills me? By the stars - I go to the worms, and my honour sheds no tears over the matter.

ACRES No, Dolores. In that case, dammit, your honour follows you to the grave!

DOLORES The one place where I’m not bothered either way.

ACRES Dammit, Dolores! Don’t be such a wuss! Why am I even listening to you? You’re saying I should just disgrace my ancestors? Think of that, Dolores...think what it would be to disgrace my ancestors!

DOLORES Hmph, I think it’d be best to steer clear of them as long as you can. Being in such a hurry to join them...with a bat’leth in your gut, no less...that’ll hardly please them. Besides, ancestors are very good sorts of folks, I’m sure, but they’re the last people I’d want to be on visiting terms with.

ACRES But, seriously Dolores, you don't think there is such very great danger, eh? Dammit, people fight all the time and no harm done!

DOLORES I don’t fancy your odds...flaming wheels! here to meet some crazed Klingazon, fearsome blade in one hand and spiked battle axe in the other! Gods, it makes me lightheaded to think about it! Such desperate bloody-minded weapons! I never could stand 'em, even as a pup!

ACRES Well, you won't put me off. Here’s the challenge, and I’ve messaged my good friend Jak Absolute to ask her to carry it for me.

DOLORES Aye, sure, let her send it. I wouldn’t lay a hand on it for twenty acres of my own. By the stars! I can almost see the blood oozing out…

ACRES Get away, you chicken! You’re as cowardly as a lion!

DOLORES Well, I’ll say no more...it’ll be sad news, to be sure, at Verdant Acres! How Dog will howl! - poor lad, he’s got no idea what danger his best friend’s heading into without him! And old Nag, who’s carried you about the farm since you was this high, she’ll be off her hay, no doubt. [Sniffing]

ACRES You can't stop me, Dolores. I’m determined to fight, so...get lost, you’re spoiling my buzz. [Enter SERVANT.]

SERVANT Captain Absolute, ma’am. 

ACRES Oh good! Show her up. [Exit SERVANT.]

DOLORES Well, hopefully we’ll all alive this time tomorrow.

ACRES Don't push it, Dolores!

DOLORES Goodbye, ma’am. [Sniffing]

ACRES Get away, you spineless jellyfish! [Exit DOLORES.] [Enter CAPTAIN ABSOLUTE.]

ABSOLUTE What's up, Dag?

ACRES That croaking raven! If I hadn’t the courage of...

ABSOLUTE But...what did you want with me, Dag?

ACRES Oh! There...[Gives her the challenge.]

ABSOLUTE [Aside.] To Miss Beverley. So, what's going on now? [Aloud.] Well, what's this?

ACRES A challenge!

ABSOLUTE Oh...? But, you won't fight her; will you, Dag?

ACRES Oh, but I will, Jak. Lucky’s fired me up to it. She’s left me fuming...and I'll fight this evening, so that all my fury won’t be wasted.

ABSOLUTE But what’s this got to do with me?

ACRES Well, seeing as how you know the woman, I’d like you to give her this mortal defiance for me.

ABSOLUTE Oh well, give it to me, and I’ll make sure she gets it.

ACRES Thanks, mate...it’ll give you a lot of trouble, though.

ABSOLUTE Not at all, don’t mention it. No trouble in the world, I promise you.

ACRES Where would I be without my best mate? But hey, you couldn't be my second, could you, Jak?

ABSOLUTE Ah no, Dag...not in this business, it wouldn’t be right.

ACRES Well, then, it’ll have to be Lucky. But you’ll barrack for me, Jak?

ABSOLUTE Whenever she meets you, believe me. [Re-enter SERVANT.]

SERVANT Boss Anthoni Absolute is below, asking for the captain.

ABSOLUTE I'll come now. [Exit SERVANT.] Well, my little hero, best of luck to you. [Going.]

ACRES Hang on a minute, Jak. If Beverley happens to ask you what kind of a woman this Acres is, you'll tell her I’m a proper hellcat, won’t you, Jak?

ABSOLUTE I sure will. I'll say you’re a real scary beast, eh Dag?

ACRES Yeah, do...and if that frightens her, dammit, maybe she won’t come. So tell her I generally kill a trespasser a week; won’t you, Jak?

ABSOLUTE I will, I will; I'll say you’re known as Fighting Dag.

ACRES Right...right...it’s all to avoid unnecessary killing; I mean, I only want to clear my honour.

ABSOLUTE I’m very glad to hear it.

ACRES Why, you don't want me to kill her, do you, Jak?

ABSOLUTE No, to be honest with you, I don’t. But what a bitch, eh? [Going.]

ACRES True, true...but wait a minute, Jak...maybe mention that you never saw me in such a fury before...a raging fury!

ABSOLUTE I will, I will.

ACRES Remember, Jak—a scary beast!

ABSOLUTE Oh sure, sure, Fighting Dag! [Exeunt severally.]

  
* * * * * * *

  
**Scene II—MALAPROP's Lodgings.** [MALAPROP and LYD.]

MALAPROP Why, you awkward little mongrel! What’s the matter with her? Isn't she pretty enough? Tell me that. A polite, well-spoken, fine-looking young woman?

LYD [Aside.] He’s got very little idea whose praises he’s singing! [Aloud.] So is Beverley, sir.

MALAPROP No comparisons, pup, if you please. Comparisons don't become a young Ferengi. No, no! Captain Absolute is indeed a fine young woman!

LYD [Aside.] Yes, the Captain Absolute you’ve seen.

MALAPROP And she's so well bred. So full of proper respect and deference.

LYD [Aside] Oh, he’ll be furious when he finds out! [Enter SERVANT.]

SERVANT Boss Anthoni and Captain Absolute are below, sir.

MALAPROP Show them up here. [Exit SERVANT.] Now, Lyd, I insist on your behaving as becomes a young Ferengi. Show your good breeding, at least, though you’ve forgot your duty.

LYD Sir, I have told you my decision! I shall not only give her no encouragement, but I won't even speak to, or look at her. [Flings himself into a chair, with his face from the door.] [Enter Boss ANTHONI ABSOLUTE and CAPTAIN ABSOLUTE.]

Boss ANTHONI Here we are, Mister Malaprop; come to entice the young man into making a love-match...and hard enough it was to bring this lass to heel. I don't know what's the matter; but if I hadn’t dragged her by main force, she'd have given me the slip.

MALAPROP You’ve had infinite trouble, Boss Anthoni. I am ashamed how much trouble! [Aside to LYD.] Lyd, Lyd, get up! Pay your respects!

Boss ANTHONI I hope, sir, that Mister Languish has thought through the merits of this young woman, and the consideration due to his uncle’s choice, and my alliance. [Aside to CAPTAIN ABSOLUTE.] Now, Jak, go speak to him.

ABSOLUTE [Aside.] How am I going to get out of this? [Aside to Boss ANTHONI.] Oh, ma’am, he won't even look at me while you’re here. I knew he wouldn't! I told you so. Please, ma’am, do leave us alone together! [Seems to expostulate with her mother.]

LYD [Aside.] I wonder I haven’t heard uncle make a fuss yet? He can hardly have looked at her. Either that or they look alike and he’s half blind.

Boss ANTHONI I’m telling you, miss, I’m going nowhere til I see some progress!

MALAPROP I am sorry to say, Boss Anthoni, my nephew listens to no-one, least of all to me. [Aside to LYD.] Turn round, Lyd: you’re embarrassing yourself...

Boss ANTHONI I do wish Mister Languish would state the reason for his objection to my daughter! [Aside to CAPTAIN ABSOLUTE.] Step up, Jak! Speak, you giddy girl! Speak!

MALAPROP I don’t believe he has any objections. He’s never said anything against her, not outright. [Aside to LYD.] Answer, pup! why don't you answer the lady?

Boss ANTHONI Then it’s just a childish and hasty prejudice, and I dare say he’ll get over it by and by [Aside to CAPTAIN ABSOLUTE.] Grawlix! Madam! why don't you speak up?

LYD [Aside.] I think she’s no more in the mood for flirting than I am. Uncle must be blind not to see it’s a completely different woman!

ABSOLUTE Ahem! Mister…! [Clears throat. Attempts to speak, then returns to Boss ANTHONI.] Agh, ma’am, I’m lost for words!...and...so...so...flurried! I told you I would be, ma’am, I knew it. His handsomeness…from the rear view anyway…entirely takes away my presence of mind.

Boss ANTHONI But it don't take away your voice, fool, does it? Stop acting the goat and go speak to him! [CAPTAIN ABSOLUTE makes signs to MALAPROP to leave them together.]

MALAPROP Boss Anthoni, shall we leave them together? [Aside to LYD.] Oh you stubborn little maggot!

Boss ANTHONI Not yet, sir, not yet! [Aside to CAPTAIN ABSOLUTE.] What the devil are you up to? Stop beating around the bush, miss, or I’ll blow a fuse..

ABSOLUTE [Aside.] Oh he’d better be in too much of a huff to look round! I’ll have to disguise my voice. [Draws near LYD, and speaks in a low hoarse tone.] Um…do you come here often…?

Boss ANTHONI What in hell’s wrong with the girl? Standing there mumbling like a feral...

ABSOLUTE Oh Ma’am, I’m a little shy…

Boss ANTHONI Hmph, that's news to me! I'll tell you what, Jak; if you don't get stuck in, boots and all, I shall lose my rag and no mistake! Mister Malaprop, I wish the young man would condescend to show his face to the company. [MALAPROP seems to chide LYD.]

ABSOLUTE [Aside.] Oh, I’m not getting out of this one alive…right, here goes nothing…! [Goes up to LYD, speaks softly.] Don’t be surprised, my Prince...

LYD [Aside.] What? That’s Beverley's voice! She could hardly have fooled Boss Anthoni too? [Looks round by degrees, then starts up.] Am I seeing things? my Beverley! How can this be?...my Beverley?

ABSOLUTE [Aside.] I'm screwed.

Boss ANTHONI Beverley? What can the boy mean?—this is my daughter, Jak Absolute.

MALAPROP For shame, pup! for shame! You’ve got that girl stuck in your head, you’re seeing her everywhere you look!—apologise to Captain Absolute right now.

LYD That’s not Captain Absolute...that’s my Beverley!

Boss ANTHONI Grawlix! The boy’s mad! His brain's been turned by those infernal beats.

MALAPROP Oh charity, you’re right! What do you mean by Beverley, pup? You’ve seen Captain Absolute before today; that’s her, right there.

LYD Do you think I don’t know my Beverley when I see her?

Boss ANTHONI Oh! He’s as mad as a rabid dingo! Or... this girl’s been up to something. Come here, miss, who the devil are you?

ABSOLUTE In truth, ma’am, I’m not entirely sure myself right now; but I'll try to figure it out.

Boss ANTHONI Are you my daughter or not? Answer for the midwife, you brat.

MALAPROP Aye, Ma’am, who are you? Oh charity! No, it couldn’t be…

ABSOLUTE [Aside.] All the trickster gods that ever were, watch over me now! [Aloud.] Boss Anthoni, I am undoubtedly your own daughter, as I hope my respect for you has always made clear. Mister Malaprop, I am your most respectful admirer and, would be proud to call myself your affectionate niece. And Lyd knows, I’m sure he knows deep down, that he wouldn’t have given me a second glance if I’d made my connections known, and that I only hope he might, in time, overlook them.

LYD [Sullenly.] Oh great. That's the elopement off, then.

Boss ANTHONI My word, Jak, you are a barefaced young madam! To do you justice, I never saw a brassier brass neck in all my days!

ABSOLUTE Oh, you flatter me, ma’am...too much of a compliment...it’s my natural shyness, you see, ma’am...my modesty that’s stood in my way.

Boss ANTHONI Well, I’m glad you’re not the blind unfeeling stone you pretended to be, however! I'm glad you’ve made a fool of your mother, you minx, I am. So this was your penitence, your duty and obedience! I thought it was damned sudden! You never heard their names before, oh no! Hah, the Languishes of Castle Grayskull, eh? If you can only please me in the matter, that’s the main thing! Oh! You haven’t the morals of a carpet snake! What? [ Pointing to Lyd] Wonky teeth, eh? looks like he’s trying to see up his own nose, does he? Hey? Why, you hypocritical young rascal. I wonder how you dare look us all in the face!

ABSOLUTE It’s not easy, ma’am. It’s all very awkward, as I’m sure you can imagine.

MALAPROP Latinum preserve me! Boss Anthoni!...How didn’t I see it…? Captain, did you write those letters? What, I’ve got you to thank for the flattering description of a gangly old codger, eh? Oh charity!...was it you that reflected on my leadership skills?

ABSOLUTE Dearest Mother! my modesty will be overpowered at last, if you don't help me out, I’ll surely be defeated at last!

Boss ANTHONI Come, come, Mister Malaprop, we must forgive and forget. By the stars, things have taken so clever a turn all of a sudden, that I could find in my heart to laugh about it! Hey? Mister Malaprop?

MALAPROP Well, Boss Anthoni, since it’s you, we won’t relive the past!—so mind, young people—our views will be all to the future.

Boss ANTHONI Come, we must leave them together; Mister Malaprop, they long to fly into each other's arms, I’m thinking!—Jak—aren’t those the eyes I spoke of, hey?—and the hair, you rogue!—and the lips—hey? Come, Mister Malaprop, we'll not disturb them —how it is to be young and in love!—be young, be foolish, be happy —[ Sings.]—hey!—Birds and Bees! I feel thirty five again!—Allow me, sir—[ Gives her hand to MALAPROP.] Doop-de-doop —I wouldn’t half mind a bit of fooling around myself —Doop-de-doop. [Exit, singing and arm in arm with MALAPROP.— LYD sits sullenly in his chair.]

ABSOLUTE [Aside.] Such a serious face does not bode well.—[ Aloud.] So pensive, Lyd?

LYD Ma’am?

ABSOLUTE [Aside.] So!—grawlix! I thought as much!—that damned monosyllable has froze me!—[ Aloud.] Well, so, Lyd…this’ll make things a little easier, eh?——

LYD [Snorts.] Easier!

ABSOLUTE Come on, babe, isn’t it time to take things a little more seriously? And a smooth road under our wheels would be no bad thing? As for your inheritance, the lawyers can figure out...

LYD Lawyers! I hate lawyers!

ABSOLUTE Okay then, we won’t wrangle over details, but just go ahead and get the paperwork sorted, and…

LYD The paperwork!—I hate paperwork!

ABSOLUTE Oh my Prince! Don’t be like that!—do see how much I...[Kneeling.]

LYD Hmph!—what’s the point in kneeling, when you know I have no choice in the matter?

ABSOLUTE [Rising.] No, Lyd, you’ll always have a choice, I promise you that much. If I’ve lost your love, all the rest is worthless to me [ Aside.] Last resort, I’ll have to see what a little dignity will do.

LYD [Rising.] Then, Beverley, let me tell you, if you ever had my love, it was through lies and trickery, and deserves the punishment of fraud.—You’ve been treating me like a child!—humouring my natural rebellion and laughing at me behind my back!

ABSOLUTE It wasn’t like that, Lyd, hear me out...

LYD So, while I fondly imagined we were deceiving my relations, that we would outwit and infuriate them all...all the while my hopes were being undermined... my uncle’s consent and approval! And in the end, I’m the only fool left! [Walking about in a fury.] But here, ma’am, here is the picture—Beverley's picture! [taking a miniature from his inner pocket] which I have worn, night and day, in spite of threats and entreaties!—There, Ma’am [Flings it to her.] And be assured I throw the original from my heart as easily.

ABSOLUTE I can match that.—Here [taking out a picture], here is my very own Lyd. What a difference! There is the sparkling smouldering smile that first made my heart flutter! Those are the lips which sealed a promise! Well, that’s all in the past…! All over now! Look at it—the picture doesn’t even do you justice, but because it hasn’t changed…can’t change…I can’t bring myself to let it go. [Puts it back in her pocket.]

LYD [Softening.] It was entirely your own doing—I, I, I suppose you’ve got what you wanted...

ABSOLUTE Oh, definitely, this is much better than being in love!—hahaha!—there's some drama to this!—What do a few promises matter? Nothing at all, you know. To be sure people will say, that the young man doesn’t know his own mind—but never mind that! Or, perhaps, they may be spiteful enough to hint that the girl grew tired of the boy and dumped him—but don't let that fret you.

LYD Oh! This gets better and better! [Folds arms angrily.] [Re-enter MALAPROP and Boss ANTHONI ABSOLUTE.]

MALAPROP Sorry, but we must interrupt your smooching a minute.

LYD This is worse than your all lies put together! [in a choking voice.]

Boss ANTHONI What the devil's the matter now?—Grawlix! Mister Malaprop, this is the strangest smooching I’ve ever seen!—but what the deuce is the meaning of it?

ABSOLUTE Ask the gentleman, ma’am.

MALAPROP Oh charity!—Why, Lyd, what is the meaning of this?

LYD Ask the lady, sir.

Boss ANTHONI Dammit! I’m losing all patience with!—Why, Jak, you haven’t turned out to be any one else, are you?

MALAPROP Aye, miss, there are no more tricks, are there? You are not like the triumvirate, three folks in one, are you?

ABSOLUTE Take my word for it, Lyd can account for this much much better than I can.

LYD Sir, you commanded me never to think of Beverley again—there she is—I’ll obey you: from this moment, I turn my back on her for ever. [Exit.]

MALAPROP Oh charity! What’s the meaning of this? Sure, captain, you haven't behaved disrespectfully to my nephew?

Boss ANTHONI Hahaha!—hahaha!—now I see it. Hahaha!—now I see it—you’ve been too frisky, Jak!

ABSOLUTE What? No, ma’am, I can promise...

Boss ANTHONI Come, no lying, Jak!

MALAPROP Oh! Boss Anthoni! Oh, how could you, captain?

ABSOLUTE Upon my soul, sir.,.

Boss ANTHONI Come on, no excuses, Jak; why, your mother, you rogue, was so before you: the blood of the Absolutes was always impatient. Hahaha! poor lad! why, you've frightened him, you minx, you have.

ABSOLUTE By all that's good, Ma’am…

Boss ANTHONI Grawlix! say no more, I tell you—Mister Malaprop will speak for you. You must speak for her, Mister Malaprop:—you must tell him it’s Jak’s way—tell him it’s all our ways—it runs in the blood of our family! Come away, Jak—Hahaha!—Mister Malaprop—a little rogue! [Pushing her out.]

MALAPROP Boss Anthoni!—Oh, captain! How could you? [Exeunt severally.]

* * * * * * *

 **Scene III—The North Parade.** [Enter LUCKY O'TRIGGER.]

LUCKY I wonder where this Captain Absolute hides herself! I can’t think what men see in these feeble Southerners. Wait, is that her? Is she talking to herself? [Steps aside.] [Enter CAPTAIN ABSOLUTE.]

ABSOLUTE [Aside.] Waste of time and effort! That stubborn fool!—I didn’t think his taste for rebellion could have made him so damned absurd. God dammit, I never was in a worse humour in my life!—I could cut my own throat, or any other person's, with the greatest pleasure in the world!

LUCKY Oh, gods! I'm in luck. I never could have found her in a sweeter temper for my purpose—to be sure I'm just come in the nick of time! Now to enter into conversation with her, and politely pick a fight.—[ Goes up to CAPTAIN ABSOLUTE.] With regard to that matter, captain, I must beg leave to differ in opinion with you.

ABSOLUTE Upon my word, then, you must be a very subtle disputant:—reason being, I happened just then to be giving no opinion at all.

LUCKY That's no reason. Reason being, a person may think an objectionable thing as well as speak one.

ABSOLUTE True enough; but if a person doesn’t speak their thoughts out loud, I should think they might stand a chance of escaping controversy.

LUCKY Then, captain, you differ in opinion with me, which amounts to the same thing.

ABSOLUTE Look here, Lucky; if I hadn’t known you were a Klingazon before now, I’d never have found it out from this little chat. Unless you’re looking for a slap, I’ve no idea what you're getting at!

LUCKY I knew you were a sharp one, captain.—[ Bowing.] You have named the very thing I would be at.

ABSOLUTE Alright then; You’re on. But it’d be a courtesy to explain yourself first.

LUCKY No no; it’s a very pretty quarrel as it stands; we’d only spoil it by trying to explain it. However, you’ve a short memory, to forget an affront you passed on me this very week. So, no more, but name your time and place.

ABSOLUTE Well, then, since you’re so keen, the sooner the better; this evening— the new Thunderdome – assuming we’ll get a slot.

LUCKY It’s a busy place, to be sure. But I know a man – we’ll get a slot, be easy about that, short notice or no. If it’s all the same to you, captain, I should take it as a particular kindness if you'd let us meet at five-thirty, as a little business will call me there about six o'clock, and I can clear both matters up at much the same time.

ABSOLUTE Fine, whatever. Five thirty, then, we’ll discuss this matter more seriously.

LUCKY And we’ll be all finished in time for dinner. So that matter's settled, and my mind's at ease! [Exit.] [Enter FAULKLAND.]

ABSOLUTE Faulkland! Good timing! I was going to look for you. Ugh! all the demons of spite and disappointment have conspired against me! I'm so pissed off that, if I hadn’t a good chance of being sliced in half by-and-by, I’d hardly be in any mood to tell you the cause.

FAULKLAND What do you mean? Has Lyd changed his mind? I’d have thought his duty and inclination would now have pointed in the same direction by now.

ABSOLUTE Yeah, just like the eyes of a person who squints: when his love-eye was fixed on me, his duty-eye was happily staring at the horizon: but when duty pointed my way, off love turned on a swivel, with a frown!

FAULKLAND But what's all this about being sliced in half…?

ABSOLUTE Oh, to make everything just perfect, a good-natured Klingazon from out of nowhere has breezed in and —[Mimicking] begged leave to differ in opinion with me; and I mean to oblige —that's all.

FAULKLAND Oh come on, be serious!

ABSOLUTE True enough, captain’s word! Lucky O'Trigger—you know the one —for some insult, which I am sure I never intended, has called me out to meet her this evening at five thirty: so that’s why I wanted to see you; will you come with me?

FAULKLAND No, come on, there must be some mistake, sure. You can talk it out, and resolve your differences that way. But this evening did you say? I wish it’d been any other time.

ABSOLUTE Why? As Lucky says, [mimicking] there’ll be no problem getting a slot, short notice or no. She can take her slot and…

FAULKLAND But I’m really kind of upset about Jool. I’ve been such a bitch to him, I’ll not be myself till we get it sorted.

ABSOLUTE Oh for gods sake! Faulkland, you don't deserve him! [Enter SERVANT, gives FAULKLAND a letter, and exit.]

FAULKLAND Oh, Jak! this is from Jool. I’m afraid to open it! What if he’s dumping me? Maybe he wants to break off the engagement —Oh, this my punishment, and I deserve it all!

ABSOLUTE Here, let me see.—[ Takes the letter and opens it.] Oh yes, a final sentence, indeed!—it’s all over for you!

FAULKLAND Oh Jak, don't!

ABSOLUTE Here then—[ Reads.] Since I’m sure you’re more sorry for your actions than I can ever make you, I’ll forgive and forget. I need to speak with you as soon as possible. Yours ever and truly, Jool. There's stubbornness and resentment for you!—[ Gives her the letter.] Why, girl, you don't seem relieved at all!

FAULKLAND O yes, I am; but...but...

ABSOLUTE But, but, but!! You never hear any thing that would make another woman bless herself, but you immediately damn it with a but!

FAULKLAND Now, Jak, as my friend, be honest, don't you think there is something flippant, unfeeling even, in this rush to forgive? What's he trying to hide...?

ABSOLUTE I am so sick of this! You’re a lost cause! Just…drop it. I’ve got things to do. Meet me before five-thirty, remember, at my lodgings. A poor industrious devil like me busting a gut to gain my ends, and am at last disappointed by other people's folly, might be allowed to swear and grumble a little; But YOU...you’ve got no problems but what you’ve created for yourself...you’re more fit for ridicule than compassion! [Exit.]

FAULKLAND [Sighing] I deserved that; but still, Jak’s so much tougher than me, she couldn’t possibly understand the depth of my feelings...! This duel business gives me an idea. It’ll test if Jool really loves me…and I swear on all that’s good I’ll stand by the outcome [Exit.]


	29. The Rivals: Act Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Relationship, friendships, love, family, bravery and belligerence are all tested. A musical number happily interrupts too much introspection.

**Scene I—Jool’s room.** [JOOL alone.]

JOOL I’m worried sick! Has there been some kind of accident? Why is it so important that she speaks to me alone?—Oh Faulkland!—always so much drama, just when I could really do without it. [Enter FAULKLAND.]

JOOL Faulkland, what’s happened? Why all this mystery?

FAULKLAND It’s bad news — I’m sorry! — I’m going to have to go away for a while.

JOOL Oh no! Why?

FAULKLAND I’m in trouble — big trouble. No no, don’t worry. It’s my own fault. I was so upset when I left you, I got into a fight and — now I have to get out of Wellspring, get far away. Oh Jool, to go on the run and without you —

JOOL Oh, this is awful: if the circumstances weren’t so dreadful, I would welcome the chance to prove — but of course I’ll come with you! As soon as we're safe, we'll find a priest and be paired at last, never again to part. Then you will have a loving husband to take care of you and help you regain your peace of mind.

FAULKLAND Oh Jool! How can I ever thank you? But we don't have much time — you must decide now or it'll be too late. If only you had a few hours to think it over — to consider what you would lose and how little you would gain —

JOOL I don't need time. No, Faulkland, I want to be with you — besides, we’ve been betrothed for so long that our disappearing together will surprise no one. But we should go — what if someone comes for you?

FAULKLAND Oh, no, I shouldn’t go out til after dark — but I can’t help feeling dreadful about putting you through all this!

JOOL I don’t know the law — maybe your sheep and land will be forfeit? But that doesn’t matter. I have what mother left me, and I can teach some more, maybe get a few gigs — it’ll be okay!

FAULKLAND Yes but under pressure — pushing down on me, pressing down on you — I may become so morose and moody that there will be no living with me! — Perhaps the guilt of my crime will make me resent your attention and care!

JOOL That’s all the more reason why you’ll need someone to take care of you. I couldn’t bear the thought of you feeling like that, all alone!

FAULKLAND Oh Jool, finally! — now I see and understand! This stupid necessary trick — I’ve been such a fool, but never again, I promise you!

JOOL What do you mean? — there’s been no disaster?

FAULKLAND I admit — I made it up; but please understand — I can never do it again, you know — if you can pity and forgive your Faulkland, we can get a fresh license and pair as soon as the registrar can take us —

JOOL Wait, Faulkland!—gods know that I’m glad you aren’t a criminal! But that you could doubt me enough to do this? It’s hurt me more than I can ever express —

FAULKLAND Oh Jool—

JOOL Let me finish — my mother thought the world of you, Faulkland! — and you saved my life, her only child; by her sickbed I promised myself and everything I had to you—joyfully, because you already had my love. When she died, I still had you. You became my everything. That’s why I’ve put up with so much from you. I won’t list the ways that you’ve hurt me, but —

FAULKLAND I know!! But Jool —

JOOL After a year of separation and patience, I might have hoped that I had been tested enough — this, so cruel, so unnecessary! But I see now that you’re incapable of feeling contentment or confidence in my love. And that’s why we must end this now. I had hoped that patience and love would win you round, but I see that it does nothing. And I can’t be harsh with you — that might work, but it’s not my way —

FAULKLAND No, but, Jool, I swear – if I ever do anything like this again —

JOOL Just one more thing. I love you and I always will, although we can never be together. I only hope you will be happy someday, really I do. For my sake, if not your own, you’ve got to change this behaviour! We could have been so happy but for this — — [Exit.]

FAULKLAND He’s gone—this is it!—He really means it! I’m paralysed — Oh fool!—idiot!—monster! The dregs of humanity — but blessed to have an angel by my side. And I’ve driven him away! Oh, I need to go! It should be my duel, not Jak’s! It would be only justice. Love has tested me — shown me for what I am — and I’ve failed. I guess I’m just too sensitive for this — [Exit.] [Enter LYD and SERVANT.]

SERVANT Oh! Mr Melville was here just now — I’ll go see if I can find him. [Exit.]

LYD It’s simply ridiculous! I just can’t get Jak out of my head. I’ve got a dreadful feeling that I still love her. I’m still furious though —Where’s Jool? I need him to talk me into forgiving her — [Re-enter JOOL.] Oh Jool, I’ve had such a shitty day — Hey, what's up with you? You look like terrible!—Has Faulkland been tormenting you again?

JOOL No no, it’s not that!—It’s something or nothing. I’m probably just tired — [Aside.] It’s nobody else’s business, not even family.

LYD Hmph well, I bet this will be worse! Wait til you hear this. You know who Beverley has turned out to be?

JOOL I’ll stop you there, Lyd — Faulkland told me all about it some weeks back. That’s the only reason I didn’t try to talk you out seeing her in the first place. If Captain Absolute had really been a penniless mercenary, I couldn’t have stood by and watched you get into trouble.

LYD Oh, great, so everyone’s been lying to me? Well, it doesn’t matter — it’s all ruined now.

JOOL Come on, Lyd—

LYD Well, isn’t it unfair? Just when I thought I could finally tell The Man where to stick it, I end up being just another lawful acquisition! It was going to be such a dramatic elopement too! — stylish disguise!— rope ladder !— roar of engine! —smell of leather!— imagining Uncle Malaprop’s face when he found out!—the scandal in the newspapers!—Oh, I shall die with disappointment!

JOOL Poor Lyd —

LYD Now—quite the opposite!—what have I to expect now but a designer suit and four pages in Hello! Magazine — Lyd Languish’s society wedding to Captain Absolute! Oh to think I’d ever be such a square!

JOOL Tragic!

LYD It IS tragic! Especially when I think of the exciting dramatic dates we used to have. How she would climb up to my balcony on moonlit nights like a ninja. I would wake in the morning to a lingering scent of Poison on the pillow and a box of chocolate-covered crickets by the window. Ah, Jool, that was something like love.

JOOL Oh Lyd, I would normally just laugh at you. But after today, I ask you — beg you – if you’re fortunate enough to have someone who truly loves you, don’t play around with their feelings. Trust me, I know how much that hurts.

LYD Oh no, what’s Uncle doing here? [Enter Mr. MALAPROP, FANG, and DOLORES.]

MALAPROP So! so! here's fine mess!—a Klingazon bloodbath and Boss Anthoni nowhere to be found!

JOOL For Heaven's sake, sir, what's going on?

MALAPROP That lady can tell you—it was her that told me.

LYD [To FANG.] What’s the news, ma’am?

FANG Sir, I would consider myself no lady at all if I wasted any time in conveying such important news to a young gentleman as deeply and personally involved in the business as you are.

LYD What is it? Tell me quick!

FANG True, sir, as you say, one should be concise in breaking news of this kind; for should we string it out, perhaps before we reach the end of the sentence, two or three lives may be lost!

LYD Grant me patience!—Uncle, for Heaven's sake! — tell us what is the matter!

MALAPROP Why, battle’s the matter! slaughter's the matter! killing's the matter!—but she’s got the technical details.

LYD Then please ma’am, keep it brief.

FANG Why, then, sir, as to battle — it don’t qualify unless there are more than two combatants —and as to slaughter, or manslaughter, that will depend on the jury.

LYD But who — who are the combatants?

FANG I’m sorry to say, one is a young lady whom I should be very sorry anything was to happen to — a very fine and gallant young lady — we have been good friends for many years.

LYD But who is this? Who? Who? Who?!

FANG My boss, sir—my boss — I speak of my boss.

LYD What, Captain Absolute?

MALAPROP Oh so, NOW he cares!

JOOL But who else are with her, ma’am?

FANG As to the rest, sir, this girl will tell you better than I can.

JOOL [To DOLORES.] Please tell us, miss!

DOLORES Oh sir—there's trouble, sir. Back in the country, folks would settle their differences with a good punch-up or maybe a welly throwing contest. I’m not used to this kind of trouble, with the blades and the Thunderdomes — this doesn’t look good to me, sir!

JOOL But who is there beside Captain Absolute, miss?

DOLORES My poor boss — forgive me for mentioning her first — you know me, sir — I’m Dolores — and my boss of course is, or was, Foodlander Acres. And then there’s Foodlander Faulkland —

JOOL Uncle, we’ve got to do something!

MALAPROP Oh no, we shouldn’t interfere in Klingazon disputes! It would be culturally insensitive!

DOLORES Oh do interfere, Mr. Uncle, save a few lives — they don’t know what they’re doing, believe me. Above all, there is that crazed troublemaker Lucky O'Trigger —

MALAPROP Miss Lucky O'Trigger? Oh charity! Have they drawn poor little dear Miss Lucky into the business? Why are you just standing there, boy? Have you no feelings?

LYD What should we do, Uncle?

MALAPROP Well, run! Run as fast as we can to stop this! Here, madam, the Thunderdome you say?

FANG Yes sir, I believe so — Dolores, you go and look for Boss Anthoni. [Exit DOLORES.]

MALAPROP Come on, you boys!

FANG One good thing is, we shall hear the sounds of fighting as we get near, so we can't well miss them — never fear, sirs, never fear. [Exeunt, she talking.]

  
* * * * * * *

**Scene II—The South Parade.** [Enter CAPTAIN ABSOLUTE, concealing her bat’leth under her coat.]

ABSOLUTE A Klingazon blade in the streets of Wellspring would cause as much panic as a two headed goanna — Dammit Faulkland!—always late! I’ll have to go without her at last — Oh, gods! here's Boss Anthoni! How can I dodge her? [Muffles up her face, and takes a circle to go off.] [Enter Boss ANTHONI ABSOLUTE.]

Boss ANTHONI That’s strange! I could have sworn that was Jak!—Hey! Dammit! it is.—Why, Jak, what are you hiding for? Hey! It is her! Hey Jak, Jak Absolute! [Goes up to her.]

ABSOLUTE Really, ma’am, you must’ve mistaken me — my name’s not Jak—I’m— I’m — Betsy-Ann.

Boss ANTHONI Oh, I beg your pardon—I thought you were my —hey?—what! it is—Wait a minute —[Looks up to her face.] Happy to make your acquaintance, Miss Betsy-Ann! You scheming madam, what frauds are you embroiled in now?

ABSOLUTE Oh, a joke, ma’am, just a joke! I came here to look for you, ma’am.

Boss ANTHONI You did? Well, I am glad you were so lucky. But what are you wrapped up so for?—what's this for, hey?

ABSOLUTE it’s chilly, ma’am, isn't it?—rather cold today — but I’ll be late—I have an appointment.

Boss ANTHONI Hang on, I thought you were looking for me?— where is it you’re going?

ABSOLUTE Going, ma’am?  
Boss ANTHONI Yes, where are you going?

ABSOLUTE Where am I going?  
Boss ANTHONI You unmannerly puppy!

ABSOLUTE I was going, ma’am, to—to—to—to Lyd—ma’am, to Lyd—to make matters up if I could;—and I was looking for you, ma’am, to—to—

Boss ANTHONI To go with you, I suppose — Well, come along.

ABSOLUTE Oh! Gods!! no, ma’am, not for the world!—I wished to meet with you, ma’am,—to—to—to—You find it chilly, I'm sure, ma’am—you'd better not stay out.

Boss ANTHONI Chilly!—not at all.—Well, Jak—and what will you say to Lyd?

ABSOLUTE Oh, ma’am, beg for forgiveness, humour him—promise and vow: but I’m keeping you out —think of the cold air on your gout.

Boss ANTHONI Oh, not at all!—Not at all! I'm in no hurry — Ah! Jak, you youngsters, one little bit of heartache — [Patting CAPTAIN ABSOLUTE's shoulder.] Hey! what the deuce have you got here?

ABSOLUTE Nothing, ma’am—nothing.

Boss ANTHONI What's this?—here's something damned hard.

ABSOLUTE Oh, shinies, ma’am! Shinies!—a gift for Lyd!

Boss ANTHONI Alright, let me see what you’ve got him.—[ Pulls her coat open, the bat’leth falls.] Shinies!—a gift for Lyd!—Dammit! girl, you are not going to run him through are you?

ABSOLUTE Ha! ha! ha!—I thought it would amuse you, ma’am, though I didn't mean to tell you till afterwards.

Boss ANTHONI You didn't?—Yes, this is a very amusing shiny, truly!

ABSOLUTE Ma’am, I'll explain to you.—You know, ma’am, Lyd is dramatic, very dramatic, and very absurd of course: now, ma’am, I intend, if he refuses to forgive me, to take this blade, and declare I'll stab myself, and die at his feet!

Boss ANTHONI Fall over your own feet more likely!—why, I suppose that might well impress him.—Get along, you fool!

ABSOLUTE Well, ma’am, you shall hear of my success—you shall hear.—Oh Lyd!— I don't know what to do anymore, except maybe die! says I.

Boss ANTHONI Oh, you clown! Die and welcome—says he.—Get along! and damn your shinies! [Exit CAPTAIN ABSOLUTE.] [Enter DOLORES, running.]

DOLORES Stop her! stop her! Murder! Thief! Fire!—Oh Boss Anthoni—call! call! make 'er stop! Murder! Fire!

Boss ANTHONI Fire! Murder!—Where?

DOLORES She’s out of sight! and I'm out of breath! Oh Boss Anthoni, why didn't you stop her? why didn't you stop her?

Boss ANTHONI Dammit! the girl’s mad!—Stop whom? stop Jak?

DOLORES Aye, the captain, ma’am!—there's battle and slaughter—

Boss ANTHONI Battle?

DOLORES Aye, truly, Boss Anthoni, there's all kinds of battle, all sorts of slaughter in the ring: there's fighting going on, ma’am—bloody slash-and-stab fighting!

Boss ANTHONI Who are going to fight, fool?

DOLORES Everybody I know of, Boss Anthoni:—everybody is going to fight, my poor boss, Miss Lucky O'Trigger, your daughter the captain—

Boss ANTHONI Oh, the little —! I see what she’s up to.—Do you know the place?

DOLORES The New Thunderdome.

Boss ANTHONI You know the way?

DOLORES Not a bit of it; but I'll call the council — constables—officials—the Grand Nagus hisself—we can't be too many to part them.

Boss ANTHONI Come along—give me your shoulder! we'll get help along the way— Oh the lying madam!—Well, I shall be in such a rage!—So—this was the truth behind her shinies! I'll gift her! [Exeunt.]

  
* * * * * * *  
**Scene III—The New Thunderdome.** [Enter Miss LUCKY O'TRIGGER and Dag ACRES, each carrying bat’leth.]

ACRES Forty yards is a good distance, Lucky. I say it is a good distance.

LUCKY Pfft! A good distance for blades or for arrows? Just you leave those matters to me.—Wait a minute —I'll show you.—[ Measures paces along the stage.] There now, that is a very respectable distance—a good Klingazon distance.

ACRES Good gods! we might as well fight on a pinhead! Trust me, Lucky, the farther she is off, the surer I shall make my swing.

LUCKY Pfft! then I suppose you’d swing at her best of all if she was out of sight?

ACRES No, Lucky; but I do think forty or thirty-eight yards—

LUCKY What? nonsense! three or four feet between the edges of your blades is as good as a mile.

ACRES Good gods, no! There’s no merit in killing her so close up; do let me bring her down at a distance — a good long distance, Lucky, please.

LUCKY Well, Beverley’s second and I must settle that — But tell me now, Dag, in case of an accident, is there anything I could do for you?

ACRES That’s very nice of you Lucky —but I don't understand—

LUCKY Why, you may think there's no fighting without a little risk—and if an unlucky stab should bring a long sleep with it—I say it that would be no time to be bothering you about your funeral plans.

ACRES A long sleep!

LUCKY For instance, now—if that should be the case—would you rather be pickled and sent home?—or would it be the same to you to get composted in the Gardens? I'm told there are lovely plants and things in the Gardens.

ACRES Pickled!—Composted in the Gardens!—Good gods! Lucky, don't talk like that!

LUCKY I’m starting to think, Dag — you’ve never done this sort of thing before?

ACRES No, never.

LUCKY Ah! that's a pity!—there's nothing like being used to a thing.—Tell me, how would you receive the lady’s attack?

ACRES Oh! Yes!—I've practised that!—like this, Lucky —how’s that? [Puts herself in an attitude.] Warrior Two, hey? I'll make myself small enough: I'll stand edgeways.

LUCKY Now—you're quite wrong there —because if you stand so when I take my swing — [Backing up a few paces.]

ACRES Gods! Lucky!—careful with that thing!

LUCKY Don’t flinch —

ACRES But—but—you don't know—you may hit me!

LUCKY Oh alright then, relax!— I’ll go easy. Well, now if I hit you in the body like that, my stab has a double chance—if it misses a vital part of your right side, it’ll be very unlucky if it don't succeed on the left!

ACRES A vital part!

LUCKY But, there—stand like this—[repositioning her]—let her see your full front—there—now a blade or two may pass clean through your body, and never do any harm at all. Better! That’s why it’s called Warrior One.

ACRES Clean through me!—a blade or two clean through me!

LUCKY —and it’s the most intimidating stance too. Especially if you do a face like this.

ACRES Look, Lucky! —if I’m going to be run through, it hardly matters whether I’m the right position or not; so I’ll just stand edgeways, alright?

LUCKY [Looking at her watch.] Sure they don't mean to disappoint us?—Hah!—no—I think I see them coming.

ACRES Hey!—what? — coming? —

LUCKY Yeah. Coming through the turnstile. Is that them?

ACRES You’re right. Two of them!—well—let them come—hey, Lucky? we—we—we—we—won't run.

LUCKY Run?

ACRES No—I say—we won't run!

LUCKY Hell’s the matter with you?

ACRES Nothing—nothing—my good friend—my dear Lucky —but I—I—I don't feel quite so furious, somehow, as I did.

LUCKY Oh come on now!—consider your honour.

ACRES Yeah—true—my honour. Do me a favour, Lucky, edge in a word or two every now and then about my honour.

LUCKY [Looking.] Well, here they're coming.

ACRES Lucky —if I wasn’t with you, I should almost think I was afraid.— If my fury should leave me!—Fury will come and go.

LUCKY Then keep a tight grip on it while you have it.

ACRES Lucky — I think it’s going—yes—my fury is certainly going!—it is sneaking off!—I feel it oozing out as it were at the palms of my hands!

LUCKY Your honour!—your honour! Here they are.

ACRES Oh gods! — I wish I was safe at Verdant Acres! or that I could be slaughtered quickly before I knew it was coming! [Enter FAULKLAND and CAPTAIN ABSOLUTE.]

LUCKY Ladies, your most obedient — Hah!—what, is that Captain Absolute? So, I suppose you’re here, just like myself—to do a favour for a friend—then to proceed to business on your own account?

ACRES What, Jak? my dear Jak? my dear friend!

ABSOLUTE Hi, Dag. Beverley's here.

LUCKY A civil greeting! Well, it’s better than a curse, since it saves the fighting spirit for the action.—[To FAULKLAND.] So, Beverley, if you'll choose your weapons, the captain and I will measure the ground.

FAULKLAND My weapons?

ACRES Good gods, Lucky! I'm not going to fight Foodlander Faulkland. These are my particular friends!

LUCKY What, then, did you not come here to fight Dag Acres?

FAULKLAND Not me, I promise you.

LUCKY Well, now, that’s disappointing! But come on now, Foodlander Faulkland, here’s the three of us ready for a fight. You wouldn’t be such a spoilsport as to ruin the numbers?

ABSOLUTE Oh go on, Faulkland, fight to oblige Miss Lucky.

FAULKLAND Alright, if Foodlander Acres is so set on it—

ACRES No, no — I'll bear my disappointment like a woman. Look here, Lucky, there's no need at all for me to fight; and if it’s all the same to you, I'd be just as happy to leave it.

LUCKY I don’t take my job as second lightly, Acres. You have certainly challenged somebody — and you came here to fight them. Now, if that lady is willing to represent them — I can't see, for the life of me, why it isn't just the same thing.

ACRES Wait no — Lucky — Listen, it’s Beverley I've challenged — a person that clearly doesn’t dare to show her face! — if she were here, I'd show her who’s boss!

ABSOLUTE Wait, Dag — let me set you right there — there is no such person as Beverley. I’m the one who went by that name; and as my intentions are the same in both characters, I’m ready to defend them in whatever way you ask.

LUCKY Well, that’s a stroke of luck! — Now you can—

ACRES What, fight my dear friend Jak Absolute?—no! not if she were fifty Beverleys! Good gods, Lucky, I’m not a monster!

LUCKY So you’ve lost your taste for duelling then?

ACRES Not at all! If you’re set on fighting, I'll second you with all my heart — if you should get a touch of the long sleep, I’m your woman. I'll get you composted; or pickle you and send you over to Blunderbuss Hall or anywhere you like, with the greatest pleasure.

LUCKY Pfft! You’re little better than a coward.

ACRES Hear that, friends? She called me a coward; coward was the word!

LUCKY And what do you propose to do about it?

ACRES Look here Lucky. It’s not that I mind the word coward — coward may be said in joke, friendly-like —But if you had called me mediocre, good gods—

LUCKY Well?

ACRES I should have thought you very rude.

LUCKY Pfft! You’re beneath my notice.

ABSOLUTE Not at all, Miss Lucky — you couldn’t get a better second than my friend Acres — Fighting Dag, they call her back home. She generally kills one a week — don't you Dag?

ACRES Yeah!

LUCKY Well, then, captain, we should crack on — so out you come, my little Piecemaker — [ Draws her bat’leth] — and ask the lady to give up the young man. Because you’ll get very angry if she doesn’t, isn’t that right?

ABSOLUTE Alright Lucky, since you won't let us resolve this any other way, here's my reply [Draws]. [Enter Boss ANTHONI ABSOLUTE, DOLORES, Mr. MALAPROP, LYD, and JOOL.]

DOLORES Knock 'em all down, good Boss Anthoni; knock down my boss in particular; and clap ‘em all in irons til they put their weapons down!

Boss ANTHONI Drop ‘em, Jak, drop ‘em, or I shall be in a rage — how did you end up in a duel, miss?

ABSOLUTE Better ask her, ma’am — she challenged me and, as you know ma’am, I’m obligated to fight for my honour as a Klingazon!

Boss ANTHONI Here's a dutiful daughter; I catch her going to run a warrior through, and she tells me, she’s a Klingazon!—Dammit miss, what are you doing fighting with one of your own sisters?

ABSOLUTE Mother! I tell you, that Klingazon called me out, without explaining her reasons!

Boss ANTHONI Lucky O’Trigger! How came you to call my daughter out, without explaining your reasons?

LUCKY Ma’am, your daughter insulted me in a manner which my honour could not stand.

Boss ANTHONI Dammit Jak! How dared you insult this woman in a manner which her honour could not stand?

MALAPROP Come on now, let's have no honour before Ferengi — Captain Absolute! How could you alarm us like this?—Here's Lyd has been terrified to death for you.

ABSOLUTE For fear I should be killed, or survive, sir?

MALAPROP No, no, we must forgive and forget —Lyd is convinced; speak, lad.

LUCKY If I may, sir, I must put in a word here: I believe I understand the young gentleman —

LYD What do you mean?

LUCKY Come on now, ‘Zal’, it’s time to be serious.

LYD Quite right, ma’am; seriously, then, it’s time for me to offer Jak Absolute my hand, in hope that she returns my affection [goes down on one knee].

ABSOLUTE Oh! my Prince, do you really mean it?—Miss Lucky — there’s been some dreadful misunderstanding here. With regard to the affront which you say I’ve given you, I can only assure you it was unintentional and offer to make amends. However, where this gentlemen is concerned, I will defend my claim against any challengers.

Boss ANTHONI Well said Jak, and I'll stand by you, my girl!

ACRES Don’t forget, I give up all my claim — I make no pretensions to anything in the world; and if I can't get a husband without fighting for him, I’ll happily stay single!

LUCKY Captain, give me your hand: a gracious apology merits a gracious return; and as for the young man there, if he chooses to deny his own handwriting, here—[Takes out letters.]

MALAPROP Oh, my secret! Miss Lucky, perhaps there's some mistake—perhaps I can explain —

LUCKY Stay out of this, grandad. Mister Languish, are you my Zal, or not?

LYD Indeed, Miss Lucky, I am not. [Walks aside with CAPTAIN ABSOLUTE.]

MALAPROP Miss Lucky O'Trigger — ungrateful as you are — I admit it — pardon my blushes, I am Zal.

LUCKY What? You’re Zal?—Pfft! Piss off!

MALAPROP Why, you barbarous hellcat — those letters are mine! When you are more aware of my eligibility — perhaps I may be persuaded to encourage your attentions.

LUCKY Mr. Malaprop, I am extremely aware of your eligibility; and whether you or Luke have put this trick on me, I am equally grateful to you.—And, to prove that I’m amicable, Captain Absolute — since you’ve carried off Mr Languish, I'll give you my Zal into the bargain.

ABSOLUTE I am much obliged to you, Miss Lucky; but here's my friend Fighting Dag unprovided for. Perhaps she might consider — ?

LUCKY Hah! little Fury, will you make your fortune?

ACRES Good gods! No! But shake my hand, Lucky, lets make it up; but if ever I give you a chance of pickling me again, say Dag Acres is a fool, that's all.

Boss ANTHONI Chin up Mr. Malaprop, don't let this bring you down — you’re at your peak, man!

MALAPROP Oh Boss Anthoni—women are just — really mean. [All retreat but JOOL and FAULKLAND.]

JOOL [Aside.] She looks like a kicked puppy —not sullen or angry; and there was some truth in her fiction about the duel. Oh gods! I can’t resist those big puppy dog eyes! So much for my decision!

FAULKLAND Jool!—I can’t ask — I don’t deserve — but I can’t help but hope —

JOOL Oh Faulkland, we’re both to blame for our weakness. You for your unkind treatment of me, and I for my inability to do without you. And since I blame my weakness on love, it would be unfair not to allow you the same excuse for yours.

FAULKLAND Oh! You’re so good to me!

Boss ANTHONI [Coming forward.] What's going on here? So you two have been fighting as well, have you? Come on, Jool, I’ve never interfered before — but let me stick my beak in at last. All the faults I’ve ever seen in my friend Faulkland here seem to come from her being head over heels for you. So just marry her, lad — you'll find she'll mend surprisingly! [The rest come forward.]

LUCKY Right everyone, I hope you’re all happy! Having been a bit disappointed myself, I’d at least like to see everyone with something to celebrate!

ACRES Quite right, Lucky! So Jak, I wish you all the happiness in the world! Same to Foodlander Faulkland! And to prove that I'm not at all put out by this turn of events — drinks are on me in Ten Forward!!!

Boss ANTHONI Dammit, young Acres, I like your style! Us single ladies will drink to the paired-off ones! — and we’ll find a wife for Mr. Malaprop!

  
****  
**Scene IV Ten Forward** [Band plays “Twistin’ the Night Away”]

FAULKLAND Well Jak, our men are over there, hopefully congratulating each other. Yours for finally getting his fill of drama and excitement. And mine for having reformed a damn fool.

ABSOLUTE True, Faulkland, we’ve both had quite a time of it; with this difference only, that you always created your own difficulties, while I—

LYD Could always rely on me to do it for you, hey? But enough of that sort of talk — all’s well that ends well.

JOOL Still, though, as the song goes “It’s gonna take patience and time, oh-ho to do it, to do it, to do it, to do it, to do it right”. We need to calmly reflect on the years to come and —

Boss ANTHONI You! You young folks! Less talking, more dancing!

[general cheering, all dance, curtain drops]

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somebody’s bound to do yoga at the Citadel, surely?  
> The song is “I’ve Got My Mind Set On You” by James Ray. George Harrison did a more famous cover in 1987, so I guess there’s a copy of one or the other in the useful vinyl stack.  
> Other quotes include ‘Under Pressure’ and ‘Rebel Without A Cause’  
> For maximum entertainment, do listen to ‘Twisting The Night Away’ (Sam Cook). It’s a very jolly tune indeed.


	30. As: Just As All That’s Born Is New

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Big changes at the Citadel. A three-parter, spanning about 27 years, to wrap up my rambling headcanon nonsense.  
> PLEASE NOTE WARNING ⚠️

Max paused at the foot of the stairs, mulling over whether she would prefer apples or pears from the gardens…  
Hurried feet, calling voices, confusion. It seems like everything’s happening at once. A thousand and one things could be the reason. But he knows what’s caused the commotion. _Hope is a mistake._  
He runs too, doesn’t know where. He should be running _to_ , not _away_. The buzzing in his head doesn’t care. Only the sane part of his brain calls out, a voice a little too insistent to block out…he wonders if it’s his own voice or someone else’s…

_Go up._

He emerges at the top of the stone stairs, into the green and blue and gold light, blinding after the darkness of the stairwell. He’s got used to the darkness inside the New Citadel now, these last eighteen months or so. That particular darkness spoke Home now, after all.

The shock of the glare and the warm breeze in his gasping lungs bring him back, in part at least, from the numbing terror that had seized him.

He shuddered in shame and dread, so much worse when it’s a dread of himself.  
No…this shouldn’t be happening…not now. He was better now, he’d prepared himself for this. Wouldn’t have done it, any of it, if he’d known he’d crumble like this at the end. He thought he could cope. Max scrubbed at his hair and dropped awkwardly to his knees, stomach heaving.

But it’s not different. It’s just the same. The love, the home, the happiness, the dread, the screams, the blood and pain. The emptiness. Knowing that he’d been the cause.

_That’s life for you, boy. Best to jump now if you can’t deal with it. But it won’t end, even then. You can take my word for it._

Max jolts mid-retch, in shock at hearing a voice he knew wasn’t real but yet didn’t cause him to recoil. It’d been a long time since he’d seen them last. Almost like old friends…

It didn’t even surprise him to look up and see seven or eight Vuvalini making themselves at home among the fruit trees and bean frames, some knitting and chatting amongst themselves, others wandering among the foliage and brushing a leaf wonderingly.

_Love what you’ve done with the place._  
_And a little one on the way too._  
_You could still do with a wash, though._

“You…? You’re here?” he whispered hoarsely.

 _Of course…where did you think we were heading? Furiosa promised to bring us to the Green Place, and here we are!_ And it was Angharad who spoke now, smiling, holding her infant up to the sky as it grasps at a vine.

High above their heads, the Boy sits among the branches contentedly munching on a peach, like a hairless spider monkey. Nux’s mouth is full but he gives Max an enthusiastic thumbs up.

“Furiosa…” Max looks back towards the stairs and shudders again. “Nearly ran…”

_But here you are. Up here. Why’d you think you didn’t run down the stairs?_

“What if…? She’ll be hurting, might be going wrong…” Max scrubbed fiercely at his head again, trying to dislodge the idea…something that he’d read a long time ago.

Would Furiosa’s engine shut down safely, or would it rev on and on til it exploded, killing her in blood and pain?

 _I am one of the Vuvalini, of the Many Mothers. My clan was Swaddle Dog…the Many Mothers…_ that was Valkyrie’s voice whispering, as she bent over a string of beads, eyes closed, lips moving.

 _Our babies will not be warlords…_ Angharad held her infant close, murmuring in its ear.

Nux scrambled down from his perch, dug a hole in the ground and planted his peach stone. He knelt over it, head bowed, fingers interlocked in a V. Looking up, blue eyes radiating hope.

“But…won’t you tell me it’ll be okay…why can’t you tell me…”

“Max? Where are you?”

Max closed his eyes tightly and waited for the cacophony of other voices to crowd in.

The approach of running feet, small feet.

“Max?” the voice was breathless, sounded familiar. Living familiar. Still he was unsure of himself, kept his eyes closed tightly. A smooth stone was pushed between the finger and thumb of his clenched right hand. He opened his eyes and looked down into the anxious face of Toots, his wide frightened eyes brimming over with tears. But as Max looked down at the stone in his half- open hand, Toots patted his arm awkwardly.

“Want to play Subbuteo? I play with Tony when I’m a bit scared, but it’s better to play with a real-actual person.”

Max nodded numbly and forced a smile. He contemplated telling the kid it’d be alright, no need to be scared. But it’d be a lie.

“All the men are downstairs. Capable kicked’em out. Even Ace and that took a fair bit of kicking I can tell you. No men allowed, she said. But I think it’ll be all alright, ‘cos Mother Fury’s not scared, I’ll bet. Mother Fury’s not scared of nuthin. Grampa Zal’s been all pacing up and down and Ace’s grumpy and Scratch ran away…”

“Like me…” Max muttered with only half a sigh. The kid’s relentless chatter was strangely soothing.

“He ran away away. Least I found you.”

“Maybe we should go down. Join’em”

*

“I am one of the Vuvalini…  
“Of the Many Mothers...  
“My Initiate Mother was…Katie Concannon.  
“I am the daughter of Mary Jabassa.  
“My clan was Swaddle Dog…”  
Furiosa muttered between clenched teeth and deep breaths.

This is perfectly normal. Mothers have done this for generations…no one... is going… to die…

That last bit should have been comforting…but Furiosa wished she hadn’t thought it.

Only Phyllis and Capable are here. There are a host of women on standby outside the door to relay messages and stand guard as needed.

She wants Max, but this is the Vuvalini way and, besides, she doesn't want him to see her in pain...or experiencing uncontrolled bodily functions, if it comes to that...she's heard stories. She’s more worried about him, anyway. She hopes, wherever he is, he’s okay and calm and not gone.

“My clan IS…is here…”

*

Her men wait in the garage pretending to work, pretending not to be anxious. Max and Ace and Toots and Zal and Karl and Caleb and Jerome and Taggy and Leo and Dek. Not nervous at all.

When Max fidgets, Toots paces. When he sits and bites his nails, Toots sits and jiggles.

Toots fishes his pebbles out of his pockets again and tries to distract Max with another game of Subbuteo.

An excited Toast comes running. She knows not to waste words. “Come, come, it’s all good!”

“She’s okay?” Max felt like his legs wouldn’t hold him. But still he found himself following, on autopilot.

“Which one? Oh, right…dammit. Yes, Furi’s fine. Phyl’s just done stitching her up, but…”

“Stitch…?”

“You try shoving a watermelon through a hole the size of a lemon, see if something doesn’t give a little…oh, sorry kid, didn’t see you there.”

Toots was following close on Max’s heels. He was unfazed, having expected nothing short of heroic wizardry from Mother Fury.

The rest of the men trailed behind, their conversation coming to Max as if through a fog…What’d she say?...Think it’s a girl…what was that about a watermelon? Does the Boss want one?...you don’t want to know, lad…no, that would not be a good gift right now…

Should his head feel this numb? Max wondered, as they arrived in the anteroom.

*

An indignant high-pitched wail. Phyllis opens the door, her typically impassive face beaming. "There he is. Boy, come in...you've got a daughter."

*

Max reached for the squirming bundle. He wants to look at Furiosa, see how she is, that she’s alive and well and not greatly the worse for having given birth to his child. But can’t seem to tear his eyes away from the tiny wrinkled brand new baby in his arms.

The newborn stopped squalling and regarded Max with a crinkled brow and a scrutinising expression. Furiosa knew she couldn’t be focusing on him, not at under an hour old, but the image was so beautifully, so agonisingly funny that she laughed.

“She looks so like you."

Max is too dazed to speak, but Furiosa now has his full attention as she turns towards the shadowy figures hovering uncertainly at the door. He hadn’t been expecting this…smiles and laughter…hadn’t allowed himself to hope for any of this.

Furiosa waves them all in to meet Valkyrie Jabassa Rockatansky. A big oldname for a very little person. She'll just have to grow into it, that's all.

*

They have very different parenting styles, Furiosa and Max. She is of the Many Mothers where, once a child is off the breast, it belongs almost equally to the whole clan as one extended community. Max, on the other hand, is used to the nuclear family, as he calls it. This is a term that is inextricably linked with toxic radiation in the minds of…well…everyone, but he and other Before-timers explain that it just refers to ‘a couple and their dependent children’. Upon which, most of their listeners make wry faces and dismiss it as a high-risk strategy.

At the New Citadel, the pups all sleep together after their fourth New Year. Eat together, play together, learn together.

It’s hard for him to hand Val over to others, Furiosa can tell, for all that he’s willingly adopted this brand of communal living. But she knows it’s the safest way to live in this world. She hopes it’ll shield him from being broken again. Furiosa had worried he wouldn’t be able to do it, but something in Max had unclenched not long after their girl’s second New Year. She thinks maybe now she’s older than his son when he died. Maybe he feels a barrier has been broken, history may not necessarily repeat itself.

Val’s still as much their baby girl as ever. She comes running from the ranks of her fellows after breakfast, always yells Mum! or Dad! and comes pelting on her chubby legs to tell of reading or what prank Dag’s girl Dryad pulled yesterday or how Toots had walloped one of the bigger boys for making fun of her.

She talked plenty now. They’d worried about that for a long time. Not a word ‘til she was nearly two, but it seems she was just arranging her thoughts. Taking it all in. She was a laconic child, sparing of her words, selecting them carefully like a connoisseur.

She liked stories too, like her mother as a child. But Furiosa had been more of a campfire storyteller than a reader of written words. Val was like a sponge, soaking up ink. She would hoard scraps of paper and hunch over them, writing in tiny letters to save space.

Furiosa sometimes wondered whether her namesake, her lost friend, hadn’t gone to the stars at all, but had chosen to wait…knowing she would be commemorated soon. Was it her lost Val looking at her out of her own child’s eyes? Maybe.

A sharp yell woke Furiosa from her reverie…she looked around to see her own girl sprawled in the dust bellowing in frustration as her friends looked down from their high perch. Max running over to check she wasn’t damaged and giving her a relieved cuddle as her sobs redoubled with the sympathy.

Okay, that’s not lost Val in there. My own little Valkyrie is not a natural climber, it seems. Furiosa’s eyes stung with tears, a mixture of relief, regret and affection at the sight of her Max fussing over his baby girl in a very unVuvalini manner.

“That man of yours is gonna ruin young Valkyrie!” Althea called out disapprovingly from the doorway. “Careful she don’t turn out soft, getting cosseted like that.”

“She’s just mad at falling when the others made it. She’ll find her own way up, though. Look, there she goes. And no, he isn’t helping her.”

Val might have been daddy’s girl...and, in fact when Furiosa asked what she was writing this week, Val declared it was Dad’s stories from Before-time. She wanted to be an archivist now, not a wizard. Wizards were silly. Yes, Val was a daddy’s girl. But Mum was her hero. She was a little in awe of her, having heard the Boys tales of Imperator Furiosa, and Ace’s anecdotes from when Mum was a Boy too, almost as young as Toots. And she knew Mum loved her and wanted her to be happy and strong and safe. Val might not fly up to Furiosa and fling her arms around her with as much abandon as she would with Max, but her mother’s smile or hug would have her in a glow for the rest of the day. She would have an Initiate Mother in a twelvemoon or two, they were debating whether Toast or Cheedo would be best, but if Val had to introduce herself, she would proudly announce ‘I am the daughter of Furiosa Jabassa, of the New Citadel clan’. Anyone who saw her knew who her father was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The line Max remembers is from Stephen King’s The Breathing Method  
> “Birth is wonderful, gentlemen, but I have never found it beautiful – not by any stretch of the imagination. I believe it is too brutal to be beautiful. A woman’s womb is like and engine. With conception, that engine is turned on. At first it barely idles … but as the creative cycle nears the climax of birth, that engine revs up and up and up. Its idling whisper becomes a steady running hum, and then a rumble, and finally a bellowing, frightening roar. once that silent engine has been turned on, every mother-to-be understands that her life is in check. Either she will bring the baby forth an the engine will shut down again, or that engine will pound louder and harder and faster until it explodes, killing her in blood and pain” (Stephen King, The Breathing Method, 1982).


	31. As:Until The Ocean Covers Every Mountain High

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Citadel’s explorers bring exciting news.

Val had just turned seven when Grampa Zal and his crew came back from their travels. They were looking for the New Green Place, everyone knew that by now. Even the People who didn’t know the Old Men to speak to would get interested when the bashed-up VW pulled up in the dust-cloud it carried with it everywhere. Would pass by and call out ‘Any luck this time?’ It was getting to be a joke with lots of people, which made Val mad because she’d seen all the old papers and the maps that Dad had made, and she’d even been to see the old Mushroom Farmer with Toast and Dag.

But something was different this time. Grampa didn’t look as tired as he usually did, all tuckered out from months of travelling and getting disappointed. No, Val was almost sure she saw him skip a little bit. Karl he waved and called her over.

“You’ll never guess what we found out in the wild world, kiddo. Lots and lots of your favourite colour!” he said as she ran into her Grampa’s open arms. “Think it’s gonna be everyone’s favourite colour today, if it wasn’t already” Grampa added as he got to his feet, knees all dusty.

Karl shook her hand, as he always did. Val was surprised to see that she was almost his height now, but not quite. But they’d been away a long long time. When she was very young, people would say all the time ‘she’s the image of her Dad…’. Once she heard someone add ‘she’ll never have to duck to go through a door’. Which was made her mad because her Dad was really tall and lots better than everyone else’s dads. But, over the years, her friends had grown faster, and she was the small one.

Which was why it was curious to stand toe to toe with an actual grownup, someone her Grampa’s age, and look them in the eye. She was immediately compelled to ask Karl what it was like and did it make him angry to be small for always…but she knew she shouldn’t because it was rude but she wanted to know…and she could feel her face getting red and she hoped hoped hoped nobody would notice…

But she didn’t have long to fret, because Karl said “Here, take a look at this” and handed her a great big flower, wilted some, but bigger than her hand. She blinked at it in surprise, opened her mouth to ask what it was, but just then Grampa asked “Where’s the Boss?”

Val giggled, awkward feelings forgotten. Mum always got annoyed when Grampa called her that.

“Off scouting with Dad. They went two days ago, said they’d be back in four.”

Grampa Zal groaned and made a face at Karl, who shook his head. Guess they wanted to tell the news to Mum and Dad first, whatever it was. Val didn’t mind, she thought as she examined the flower. She could be patient. More patient than Grampa, by the look of it.

But they all got lucky and didn’t have to wait two days, because about an hour later they arrived back with a rusty bike and sidecar tied to the roof that looked like it’d been buried for a hundred years. Seems they’d spotted the van and followed it home. Grampa and his pals hadn’t been seen for almost a twelvemoon and folks were starting to fret. Val knew better. Grampa hadn’t got so old by getting into trouble.

*

“Snow.” Max’s voice was flat, but with a tiny inflection that would’ve meant ‘Fuck off’ if it hadn’t been Zal telling the tale.

“There’s snow.” the older man repeated.

A pregnant silence in the room, broken by Toast’s impatient “There’s no what? Enough with the dramatic pauses…”

“Snow is…weather you get on high mountains. Falls out of the sky, white stuff.”

“Like…ash? Sounds dangerous.”

“Not ash. Water…but frozen.” Max sounded a little uncertain about the details. “Never seen it myself.”

“Sounds like we’ll have to wrap up warm then” Althea muttered, with the resignation of master knitter who was beginning to feel her age in her fingers before anywhere else.

“There are people there already, though. How well-armed are they?” Furiosa asked.

“It’s a deep valley, really well-hidden. The snow is higher up the mountain, the valley itself isn’t cold. Cooler than here, of course, but warm enough for two crops a year on the north slope...”

“Which is why they won’t be welcoming new arrivals…”

“I’m getting to that. They won’t be hostile, because they need the numbers. They lost about half of their community a while back…”

“Attacked? Disease?”

“An avalanche.”

“A what?”

“A lot of snow slid down the mountain onto them.”

“Oh. This snow sounds great.” Toast laughed mirthlessly.

“They don’t do mining with explosives any more. Shouldn’t happen again.”

“What’s their power source? Where do they get their guzz? Do they trade with Gastown for it?” asked Caleb.

“No guzz. Methane from waste, hydro and a bit of timber for cooking fires. Twigs and that, the kids gather them.”

“Hydro? Water power?” asked Capable.

“Water flows down from the mountain as fast rivers, fast enough to power a wheel. It’s like wind power.”

There was a frisson of excitement in the room at this. The idea of water flowing constantly, unchecked, was a disturbing but thrilling image. And flowing powerfully enough to replace the wind as an energy source?

“But it’s not enough to power vehicles, not without bigger dams and years of work…they use it for light and heating. Too steep for vehicles anyway. Bikes maybe, but feet are surer. Good climbers, these folk.”

A noise under the table alerted the council to the presence of an intruder. Two, in fact, although it was Val’s unguarded reaction to bad news that had discovered them.

“Out, you two! I’ll talk to you both later.” Furiosa pointed her thumb towards the door with an exasperated look.

“Idiot, Val…” Toots muttered as he clambered to his feet. “Can’t trust a baby to keep quiet…”

Val’s jaw dropped at this public affront.“You…smeghead!” she retorted.

“Hoi! Language!” Max called after them as they both fled, bickering.

*

It was something of a wrangle to figure out who should be part of the caravan to the Mountains. Caution aside, there was never any doubt that they would try to settle this New Green Place now it had been found. They would need fighters, healers, Thumbs of every hue. But so did the New Citadel. They couldn’t risk weakening their established home for the more tenuous chance of a new one.

Max and Furiosa’s shared look as Zal described their find was all that needed to be said for their part. It was obvious to all that they both longed to be on the Road, beating a new path towards a future…redemption…for themselves and future generations.

But what about the kids? Val was only little. Could they take her from all she knew, into unknown dangers? No, Max shook his head. They would come back for her when it was definitely safe. But that in itself was unthinkable. Was she old enough to choose for herself?

And Toots. They’d long since taken the kid under their collective wing as their own, inasmuch as any child could be claimed. But he was thirteen now. What would he choose to do? This was going to be hard, no matter what.

Others were having a difficult time too. The youngest were enthusiastic, those without close ties were eager, especially among the People.

The young Vuvalini, as they were now known, had a conference amongst themselves and concluded that they would all stay. They were too deeply invested here.

The unspoken caveat was that Ace and Caleb would opt to remain as well. Between them, they could direct the New Citadel in a skeleton fashion in the absence of the colonists.

Toast held out longest but succumbed to the argument that she was, to all intents and purposes, Furiosa’s apprentice and should remain in her stead.

And Ace declared he would stay. He was Citadel to the bone, that was all. Caleb, standing close by, merely nodded agreement.

Althea would go, Phyllis would stay. This surprised many, but not those who knew them well. Phyllis was not comfortable in wide open spaces, though she kept this fact to herself as best she could. What would’ve been the point of complaining of something that was unavoidable? But she had a Home again, a safe place with walls, and starting over again afresh was not an option. Althea knew what a relief this was and didn’t try to persuade her oldest friend to join her.

Val made such an outcry at the barest suggestion that she might stay behind that any doubt on that score was done away with. Toots, in unusually few words, looked at Max and Furiosa “Where you go, I go.”

That would be all four of the Old Men, Furiosa, Max, Toots, Val, Althea, Taggy and Dek from the old Rig Crew. They took applications from citizens who wanted to come, selecting the healthiest with relevant skills.

In the end, five Boys, two Milkers-turned-Greenthumbs and three from the People would complete the convoy. The blackthumbs had been working for nearly a sixmoon, putting together a Big Rig. To carry supplies for weeks on the Road, and off-road too. Not looking for war, but able to deal it out if necessary. And, unless they were very lucky, it would be. Once they sent back word, others could follow.

*

The Big Rig and its outriders set off at daybreak. There had been a party the night before. The band had played ‘Up Around The Bend’, one of Val’s favourites. She wasn’t good at music, not like Toots, but she could clap along like the best of them.

When Val had said ‘Don’t cry, Auntie Capable, they’re not that bad. They’re getting better at it”, Capable had sniffed and wiped her eyes and laughed and said that she wasn’t sad. She was crying because she was happy that no one was having to escape this time round. And that was true, nobody was chasing them, apart from the waving Pups. Val waved back as long as she could see the Citadel through the dust clouds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not sure what to make of Val. She seems to spend most of her time being irritated and unable to get her words out quickly enough. I’m starting to think she might be a self-insert :/  
> Never mind!
> 
> Just a reminder that Zal and Karl are Christopher Brookmyre’s characters who I have misappropriated for my own evil purposes.


	32. As: As Today I Know I’m Living But Tomorrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Twenty years of letters from our Mountain correspondents. Until one day some sad news is delivered in person. But life has a funny habit of going on.

Toast smiled as she thumbed through the sheaf of letters from the Mountain. Many of them were in Val's handwriting, always unchildishly tiny and neat, even the earliest, like this one. That kid knew the value of paper and had learned to write small as soon as she could write at all. And she’d always been more fond of writing than talking.

_Hi everybody at the Citadel. We miss you loads but are here in the Valley all safe. Grandad told us a song, its called 'Big Rock Candy Mountain'. Its about a hobo who wants to find a nice place to live. We're all hobos. Driving was okay, mainly not exciting but sometimes. Some bad people but mum and dad made them go away. Toots wrote a song about it. Its called BAM BAM._  
_We found the Rock Candy Mountain. Up high there's a green place shaped like a big V. Maybe it’s where the V8 lives? Mum and dad hugged a lot. Mum cried some. She was very happy. There are birds and the ground is wet.  
Your Valkyrie Jabassa Rockatansky_

*

There were other letters; brief official reports and even the occasional personal note in Furiosa’s unpracticed hand. Maps, of course. Many maps drawn by Max, no longer in his own blood but some plant-based ink or other. Even census figures began to arrive as numbers grew; Zal had likely kept his word to the folks he’d met over the years; showing them the way to a Green Place.

Lists of foodstuffs, so different to the Citadel fare. Meat that definitely was not long pig. There were animals, large ones even, in the mountains. Toast regretted more than once that she had opted not to go with the convoy. Her Val had become a notable hunter, it seemed. Bows and arrows, no use at all in the wide open Citadel environs, were the weapon of choice for the Mountain warrior. Presumably she’d learned from the native Mountain people.

The Citadel party had adapted to their new surroundings over the years. It was funny to see the Mountain folks meet their old Citadel companions again, those who made the long journey to and fro. The heat and dryness was troublesome to those used to the Mountain, while the returning Citadel people complained how the cold and damp got into their bones.

There was a slow but steady flux of citizens between the sister states. But Toast still had never visited. She’d been set on going during that quiet spell after the Gastown Armistice was signed. But then a party arrived from the Frontier trading post and put paid to that. In short, it never seemed to be the right time.

The others felt the same, they talked about going, often. Cheedo consoled herself by copying the Mountain missives into the Archives. Dag had one day speculated on the durability of the plant-ink. They’d checked the oldest letters and, indeed, they were badly faded. So they’d taken to transcribing them and leaving the paper to bleach in the sun to be reused.

The more entertaining letters were compiled into a Modern Book of Knowledge for the purposes of teaching the Citadel young ones. Over the years, the pups would learn everything from house building to anthropology from the correspondence of, well, mainly young Valkyrie. From how grasses could be arranged to keep the rain off, right through to the measures a Citadel boy might take to successfully or unsuccessfully woo a native Mountain girl.

Poor Toots. Toast wondered if he knew the successes and failures of his love life was being broadcast to the folks back home via the pen of a satirical twelve year old who found it all hilarious.

It was an education to view Mountain life through the eyes of a child, a teenager and eventually a young woman.

But Val was not the only correspondent. Toots wrote to his old mate Scratch over the years, though erratically and in a manner often incomprehensible to outsiders. Scratch would gossip, however and, as time went on, it became whispered that the excitable musician had a paralysing crush on Val, now nineteen years old and a recent graduate of a year-long solitary initiation in the high forests.

It was around that time that Val stopped mentioning Toots in her letters altogether. Some months later, she declared her intention to try for a child, Mothers willing, in the tradition of the Vuvalini. And to take Toots on as a partner, on probation, since he was the best man she knew. So that was that. Never was the romantic type, our girl, not outwardly anyway. If there were any less practical motives involved, she kept them to herself.

*

Toast was awakened from her reminiscing by the blare of the sentinel’s horn. Visitors! _Friend or foe?_ she wondered, as she grabbed her pistols and jogged downstairs.

The evening sun cast long shadows as a truck pulled up, waved in by the sentinel. A few moments later, a tall man with climbed out of the drivers seat, dreadlocks tied up behind. A dark-haired woman emerged from the other, catching a child of about five or six in her arms as he jumped down. No, it couldn’t be. Those kids were here…with their own kid? Impossible! Toast laughed and ran forward.

*

Oh, the Citadel looked so different when they returned, though just the very same. The same shape, more or less, but there were few people left that they remembered. How had it been so long? Life had got in the way. A new life in a new place.

Where were the same old faces that she’d left behind? Val shaded her eyes. Oh! Here was Toast. Grey-haired now but still with enough teeth to be chewing a splinter of wood. She came running, beaming at them. How could she tell her?

"Toast..." Val choked as she hugged her old friend. Her Initiate Mother, for a time. "Toast. Listen. They're gone."

“Gone? Who’s…?” Toast held her at arms length and looked into her face. Understanding dawned. “No. No, they can't be."

Toast spun away on her heel, palm to her forehead, eyes cast up angrily to the sky. The others came running up, at least as fast as they could. They weren't as fast as they used to be but they were all there, thank the Mothers.

And here, here was Angharad, and Nux. Nearly twenty oldyears on and she'd know them anywhere.

“What’s wrong? Toast…?”

"They're gone...? gone where? Not...?"

"To the stars..."

"How...what happened?"

"That can wait. Come in, you three. Need to get you some water, food..."

That was typical Capable. She could hold back the need to know how her friends had died, in the interests of hospitality and care. Bless her. And how one word from her could silence the others. For now, anyway.

*

After they'd been given a room to freshen up and get a few minutes to centre themselves, they were taken to another room, not the refectory, somewhere more private. There was fresh water and food. Citadel food, so different from what they had in the valley. Childhood memories were so tied up in those tastes and textures. The lump in her throat made it hard to swallow. Toots was feeling it too, same as her. They were her parents, but they were all family, blood or not. These old-new things made them miss them both a hundredfold, impossible as it might seem.

But Sprog did them good. He was a good distraction; a little shy of the new people but entranced by the place. She should’ve known it wouldn’t disappoint.

She called the others in. It was time to tell.

*

"Mum's breathing got bad. And she found a lump on her neck. We knew some lumps were bad, but we hoped it wasn't that kind. I mean, Ace had them, and he didn't get sick, right? But she got so tired, and some nights we could hear her try to breathe.

“But we thought it would pass. Sometimes it seemed better. Dad was worried, but we'd try to keep him cheered up. Toots is good at that, you know? So, one day, Toots was messing around. Dad was laughing in that quiet way, and he hit Toots on the shoulder and called him 'Goose'. We thought it was just a Before word, a figure of speech. Silly goose, something like that. But Dad just went white as a ghost, and walked away.

“We didn't realise at the time, but that was the beginning. He was starting to mix people's names up, forget things. One time, he looked at me for a few seconds like he didn't know who I was. And Sprog. He looked so confused when he called him grandad. But he never forgot mum. You know.

“So this went on for about a year. Sometimes better, sometimes worse. But we were kidding ourselves. They were both fading in their own way. They warned us, not outright. But hints. And who were we to force them to stay?"

"They left, then?" Capable asked.

"Early one morning, we found things laid out on their bed. Dad's jacket. Mum's old bandolier and knives. A little bag with a lock of Gran's hair. And a note. Just short.

It's time to go. We love you. We're sorry

“They hadn't taken anything. It was a cold night, so we kind of knew we wouldn't find them on time. Guess they knew that. Didn't want us to bring them back.

“We went out to look for them. One place made sense. We climbed down the mountain, back to where Dad had left his car when we arrived. It was rusted and bits of shrubs were growing in the cracks. Mum and Dad were there, together, curled up on the bonnet of the car, no wraps, nothing. I guess they'd just gone to sleep. And it had been such a cold night.

“We wrapped them in blankets. They had no pulse, they were stone cold, but we had to try. We lit a fire, and sat by them for a day. Everyone from the Valley had gathered by then. The next morning, we burned the car."

*

Toots wandered off alone. He was so used to seeking out the company of others that everyone assumed he was with another group. He climbed and climbed til his thighs burned with it. It was strangely comforting to climb stairs in darkness again, as he had done when they brought him here. It was only when he emerged into the molten gold of sunset light that he realised he’d run out of places to go.

It was the Gardens. Always a good place to soothe an irritated spirit or a melancholy mood, but Toots paused, almost ready to turn and go back down. He was afraid the memories would be too much for him to handle. He’d forgotten so much, and the smells everywhere were returning them to him in spades.

He thought he’d cried his cry back when they buried them, but he might’ve known there would be a whole new wave waiting for him at the Citadel. He’d rather be alone when it hit.

Toots took a look round. No one here. It would be safe to let go if he had to. But no, nothing was happening, no lump in the throat, no overwhelming urge to just curl up on the floor for a comfortable sob. He just sat and took in the smells and remembered Max and Furiosa as he’d seen them here. It helped him understand why they’d chosen to leave when they did, not to struggle on. Toots has never been sick, neither had Val, not that kind of sick that there’s no coming back from.

“Hey mate, you wanna talk about it?” Toots squinted up as a long shadow fell on him, then shrugged tiredly. Scratch flopped down next to him.

“‘S a shame. Thought those two would go on forever.”

“Just got wore out. Never ones for taking a rest, y’know?” Toots stared forward for a moment, then drew his legs up, and put his forehead on his knees. _“Shit”_ he groaned, finally resigned to the inevitable. He was gonna weep with an audience after all. He tried to keep it quiet, but the shoulders would shake and the breath would hitch in his chest. He didn’t even want to think about what the gasps and sniffs might sound like. Finally it passed and he shook his head with a grim laugh.

A greasy rag was thrust under his nose. He took it with a nod and blew noisily.

“I know what’ll…what’ll…” Scratch paused to choose his words and gave up. “You’ll wanna see this, anyway. C’mon.”

*

“Cheedo suggested it. They’d been reading some old book about vampires, can’t see the connection meself, but…here.” Scratch carefully took a cylinder from the shelf and handed it to Toots.

“I mean, it’s nothing like the discs, but the sound’s not bad. Get the paraffin from Gas Town o’course, and it can be reused. Just messin’ about but maybe someday we’ll be able to make discs. Trade ‘em too…” Scratch had a faraway look in his eye and grinned. “So, we do it like this - I get the band assembled in a special room, all fitted up with…”

“Aw mate, just play it, willya!” Toots was practically quivering with excitement. Ordinarily he’d be nearly as keen to hear the technical details as his friend was to give them, but today? No.

“Aye, alright” Scratch grinned. “You’ll like this. It’s one of yours. We couldn’t get anyone to do the vocals, but it’s a solid instrumental version…”

He placed the needle on the cylinder and cranked the handle.

A thrill ran through Toots. He’d written a lot of songs over the years and sent them to Scratch for the band to try. From his earliest one about how Furiosa and Max had dealt with trouble on the way to the New Green Place, right through to the one he wrote when he started to hope Val liked him just a little bit. But of all of them, Scratch couldn’t have picked one more appropriate for the here and now.

It didn’t matter that he’d written it one day up on the high peaks when Max and Furiosa were fit and well down below. Back when he was young, and Val was younger and everyone was going about their business and no one was gone. Funny how songs can suddenly mean something completely different.

This one was now bittersweet; a song of remembrance. Toots closed his eyes and sang.

*

Afterwards, Scratch swore blind that he hit the broadcast toggle by accident. Must’ve leaned on it or something.

*

Val and the Sisters had stayed outside to talk, to sit quietly, to think. Others began to gather, the news having spread.

"I'll never forget mum's face when we saw the valley.” Val said with a smile. “There was just this real earthy smell in the air – like Dag's garden's but more - she just closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Then she kicked her boots off and walked barefoot on the damp soil. When she turned round to us, there were tears just running down her face. She just looked at Dad and laughed. Reached out a hand to him and said "Second time lucky."

Some of the older hearers smiled at this, understanding what Furiosa had meant.

At a crackle of static from the public announcement system, they all looked up as one.

_“…I'm going to live to see everyone free, free, free, free”_

(And this is how Citadel karaoke was born. But that’s another story.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry, please don’t be mad. I needed the closure :(
> 
> Also, Val and Toots were raised as family friends, NOT brother and sister, in case anyone thinks this is weird. I could cite the case of Emma/Clueless if folks still aren’t convinced.
> 
> Toots’ songs mentioned here are 1: Bam Bam  
> 2: Just Tell Me  
> 3: I Shall Be Free  
> (all by Toots and the Maytals)


	33. Apocalypse Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Like those times you wake up mystified” (Apocalypse Dreams, Tame Impala)
> 
> Because maybe dreams are just windows into the lives we’re living in other universes. Just a thought.

Fury jolted awake as the eighteen-wheeler rumbled past. God, how long had she been asleep? Where the hell were they? Woozy from sleep and half still in the dream, she looked around for Max.

The Rig was parked next to a high wall. Looked like Max had found the only shady spot in the whole service station. And there he was, sunning himself on the steps drinking from two-litre bottle of water.

She sat for a moment, trying to bring herself back to reality. Then unbuckled her seatbelt, opened the passenger door and climbed out carefully. Fury was only beginning to show, but Bump was getting bigger day by day. It wouldn’t be long before she’d be very glad to be back south again. She did not want to still be in Darwin with a few months to go. Besides – she grinned at the thought – it’d be a hell of a surprise for Al and Phyl.

Oh, it was good to stretch out. She rolled her shoulders and walked over to where Max sat half dozing in the morning sun. He squinted up at her with a smile. “Good sleep?”

“Yeah. How long was I out though? I had a hell of a dream.”

“You nodded off just before we pulled up here. Looked kinda comfortable so I didn’t want to wake you.” He looked at his watch. “About forty minutes?”

“Felt like a lifetime. You know what it was like? That Star Trek where Picard dreams a whole life on another planet.” Fury half-smiled, half-frowned. It was far too real to laugh about it as much as she should.

“Yeah? What happened?” Max moved over on the step to make room and passed her the bottle.

“Well…it was after the end of the world, all desert. Joe Moore was this megalomaniac who was keeping everyone prisoner” She made a half-laughing grimace at Max. “Real nasty piece of work though. We were all escaping…the Rig really WAS a War Rig, skulls, spikes, the works…and the girls and I were driving. And YOU were tied to the front of the car that was chasing us, you had a muzzle on…”

Max laughed “You’ve got some unresolved issues want looking at.”

“They were taking your blood…” Fury frowned at the memory, but shook herself. “You joined us, but only after we tried to kill each other.” She leaned in and kissed him.

“It would make for a hell of a movie, anyway” she concluded after a decent interval.

“Car chase?”

“Oh yeah. On steroids. Shame I woke up when I did. I wonder how it was going to finish up. Wonder if we won…?”

“Go back to sleep, maybe you’ll pick up where you left off.”

“Maybe I will. But wait. Here, I’ve got a text from Phyl. She says she’s got a surprise for us too…? Someone’s arrived who I’ll be very glad to see, apparently. Can’t think who that could be.”

“Best get moving then.”

They got back into the Rig and continued homewards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “LEVEL 3: IF YOU STAY WHERE YOU ARE, YOU’LL RUN INTO YOURSELF  
> A Level 3 parallel universe is a consequence of the many worlds interpretation (MWI) from quantum physics in which every single quantum possibility inherent in the quantum wavefunction becomes a real possibility in some reality. When the average person (especially a science fiction fan) thinks of a “parallel universe,” he’s probably thinking of Level 3 parallel universes.  
> … Of the four types of universes, Level 3 parallel universes have the least to do with string theory directly.”
> 
> String Theory for Dummies  
> http://www.dummies.com/education/science/physics/the-theory-of-parallel-universes/
> 
> *
> 
> To see how these kids cope with the troubles of modern life, check out Ordinary People for a for a cute’n’fluffy Max/Furiosa modern AU  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/15149654/chapters/35131523


End file.
